
PS 1006 

S8 
1862 
Copy 1 



^A.A. TSLi.01.6 

^u^ .-A.1.S.J 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS. 



>.i- 



V N\ 



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V 



S Y B E L L E 



OTHER POEiMS 







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NEW YORK: 
Carleton, Publisher^ 130 Grand S(. 

(late RnOD & CARLETON.) 

MDCCCLXII. "^--^ 



S'n 



/^ 



////^^_ 






Entered according to Act of Congiess in tlie year 1862, by 

G. W. CAKLETON, 

In tlie Clerk's Office of tlie District Court of tlie Southern District of 

New Yorlj, 



a 8-7 



; 



gc^katioit. 



To HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, Esq. 

Even as a child with tender reverence brings 

From its small store some treasured offerings, 

Which, trifles though they be, yet serve to prove 

To those more wise its confidence and love, 

So at thy feet, Bard of high renown, 

I trusting lay my humble offering down, 

Not as all worthy thus to boldly claim 

The well-prized favor of thy glance — Thy fame 

Checks the fond hope my untaught lips would frame; 

Yet nature tells me he who tunes his lyre 

So oft in woman's praise; who wakes such fire 

Of pui-e and tender love as Preciosa owns; 

Who walks unwearied through life's changeful zones 

Still cheered and guided by the flame divine 

That lures the hopeful, sad Evangeline; 

Who, waiving custom's laws, makes nature speak 

On fiiir Priscilla's lip and changing cheek; 

Who, more than all, paints with a master's hand 

The dark-browed children of our western land. 

Who moves all hearts, as Hiawatha's moved. 

To the true, tender woman whom he loved, 

Then throws o'er all the warrior's grief and gloom, 



And wakes our tears for Minnehaha's doom — 

He, honoring woman thus, to manhood true, 

And true to love where love is virtue's due. 

Not all unmoved or with indifference cold 

Can crush the timid hope, though seeming bold. 

That ventures thus a passing glance to claim 

For one poor song, which, though unknown to fame, 

Yet seeks, as he has ever sought, to prove 

How much of life our being owes to love. 

Go then, Sybelle ; not with the studied art 
Of classic forms, but from thy woman heart 
Full of that love-born life, thy maiden form 
All glowing with its fire, thy lips yet warm 
With passion's parting kiss, thy steadfast eye 
Bent on the future with that courage high 
That love alone inspires — aye, go, Sybelle, 
Repeat the lesson thou hast learned so well 
To him, to all, that through all time shall prove 
That love alone is life, and life is love ! 



CONTENTS. 



rase 
DEDICATION" TO HENRY W. LONGFELLOW . . 5 

SYBELLE — PAETi 9 

STBELLE PART II. . . . . . 39 

ADELAIDE 79 

MARGUERITE 95 

LILLIAN GRAY 9S 

AMY DEAN" ....... 100 

MY MARY 102 

JENNY 104 

JOSEPHINE . . . . . . . KtC) 

LITTLE ALICE 108 

ESTELLE 109 

rose of evandale . . . . .112 

kitty's choice . . . . . . 114 

roland and rosalie 11c» 

MY ROSE . . . . . . . 118 

A" SONG FOR THEE 119 

TO SUMMER 122 



via CONTENTS. 

NIGHT STORMS 125 

THOU COMEST TO ME ..... 128 

AN APEIL DAT 130 

MY MORNING DREAM 13o 

-THE bluebird's SONG ..... 135 

ROSES BLOOM ...... 137 

THE PINE ....... 139 

" HATH NOT THY ROSE A CANKER ? " . . 141 
APRIL AND MAY . . . . . .143 

A SONG FOR MAY . . . . . 145 

OUR WILD WOOD HOME . . . . .147 

LONG AGO 149 

MY PRISONED BIRD 150 

-THE WHIP-POOR-WILL . . . . . 152 

MY boyhood's love 155 

" LIFE IS real" . . . . . . 157 

THE spirit's warning . . . . .159 

MY HEART GROWS SAD FOR THEE . . ir)3 

poesy 100 

MARCH ....... 168 

A SPRING SONG . 171 

-HOEING CORN 172 

KING AND QUEEN 175 

SIGNS OF SPRING 177 

THE SNOW 182 

THE CLOSING YEAR 184 

A SONG FOR NEW YEAR's EVE . . .187 

ERINNA CHAINED TO THE DISTAFF . . 190 



S YBELLE. 



SYBELLE. 



PART I. 

In forest depths a rose is springing, 
In thickets lone a thrush is singing, 
A traveler listens to the song, 
Kisses the rose, and wonders long 
That such sweet bloom and minstrelsy 
In lonely woodland wilds should be. 
Softly he kneels, and soft has pressed 
The wild rose to his lips, his breast. 
And smiled to see the wondrous glow 
His kisses on the flower bestow. 
He speaks some tender passing word — 
The thrush has in the thicket heard ; 
Its plaintive, spring-born lays are stilled, 
By some strange power its bi-east is thrilled, 
And lo ! the wildwood depths along. 
Rolls the full summer tide of song. 
O, will the charmed wanderer stay. 
To bless the rose, inspire the lay, 
Through all life's blissful summer day. 
But asking that when life has fled, 



12 SYBELLE. 

Those blushing leaves be o'er him shed, 
And that the parting song may bear 
His rapt sonl to Elysium fair ? 
Or will one passing hour like this, 
Endow him with such wealth of bliss 
He can all else forego, and brave 
As men are, climb to make his grave 
Among the glaciers flashing cold, 
And rocks o'erlying gleams of gold, 
High on life's ban-en summit, where 
Nor song nor summer roses are ? 
And in the vale, if he shoiild go, 
Would still the rose in beauty blow ? 
Would still the song so joyous flow? 
Go down at twilight in the vale. 
And ask them both to tell the tale, 
For none beside the flower and bird 
Those words and kisses felt or heard. 

The summer eve is hushed and calm. 
The airs of June are breathing balm 
From wild flowers waiting for the dew ; 
The green leaves take a darker hue, 
Save where the slanting sunset ray 
Yet lingers on each westering spray. 
Till rose-bloom tinged with blended gold, 
Seems trembling in each emerald fold. 
As some fond lover seeks to grasjD 
Her hand whose form he may not clasp, 
Caress it o'er and o'er again. 
Glad to prolong the parting pain. 
Dreading the last reluctant kiss 



SYBELLE. 13 

That seals at once his doom and bliss — 

So fond, so lingeringly the light 

Plays round the greenwood leaves to-night, 

So warmly passionate the gloAv 

That trembles through the branches low. 

And falls on every quivering leaf — 

A passing glory, bright as brief 

By soft, low banks of green caressed, 
The valley stream smiles in its rest ; 
Such murmuring rest, such dimpling gleams 
Of smiles as bless a maiden's dreams. 
When arrowy shafts of love-light part 
The shades of doubt that cloud her heart, 
As slanting rays of sunlight quiver 
Through all the trees that shade the river, 
And fall, so blessing and so blest. 
Upon its trembling, happy breast. 

Sybelle, with face as fair and calm 
As this sweet hour of bloom and balm. 
But form as still, and seeming cold, 
As though she were not mortal mold, 
"Waits by the river's side to-night : 
Around her falls the golden light ; 
N"ow on the green turf where she stands, 
Now on her closely folded hands 
The glory rests ; unconscious still, 
The slight form gives no answering thrill. 
Though upward blushing from her li])s 
The shade that marks the day's eclipse, 
Goes deepening, warming in its hue, 



14 SYRELLE. 

Above her cheeks, her eyes of blue, 
Above her forehead calm and fair. 
Till like a halo round her hair 
It flushes, pales, then fades in air. 

What wondrous spell, what wizard glance 
Has bound her in that dreamy trance ? 
' Tis not indifference, not surprise, 
That fixes thus her steady eyes 
With that strange look of vacancy. 
That seeing all seems naught to see. 
All sights and sounds of beauty here. 
That meet her eye or charm her ear. 
Have to each sense familiar grown 
As though her life were nature's own. 
And she a leaf, a flower, a bird. 
By all their sweet emotions stirred, 
Bloomed when they bloomed, sung when they sung. 
Or in enchanted silence hung, 
While summer sunlight round her played, 
And summer winds their music made. 
These are the haunts, where, when a child. 
She found such inspiration wild 
In all suiTounding sympathies, 
The changeful stream, the murmuring trees, 
The blossoms on the hillside dying. 
Or tempests through the dark sky flying. 
As wakened in her youthful breast 
Ambition's dreams, its strange imrest. 
Vague dreams they were, for that young face, 
That form so fidl of girlish grace, 
The pure soul looking wistful through 



S Y B E L L E. 1^ 

Those deep mid tender eyes of blue, 
Knew naught of fame save that the word 
On many a careless tongue was heard ; 
And naught of life, unless it meant 
Some change of outward element. 
Such as the varying seasons made 
Wlien round her childish years they played, 
When winter melting into spring 
Would to her path fresh roses bring, 
And summer's deepening blooms bestow 
On cheek and lip a warmer glow. 
Or autumns softly shadow down 
Their brown leaves on her tresses brown. 
Beloved and loving, her young years 
Scarce found a place for grief or tears. 
Yet, was the soul within content 
That thus the summers came and went. 
And found and left her like the flowers 
That blossomed in her wikhvood bowers. 
Only a rose, or if a bird. 
Still one whose songs were all unheard '? 

Content ! Yes, as the lightnings are 
That play around yon cloudy bar 
Low lying in the southern skies, 
So faintly tinged with sunset dyes. 
Sybelle is gazing on it now, 
A kindred light burns on her brow, 
A bright flush tints her cheek of snow : 
" I see it all," she murmurs low ; 
" I am the cloud ; these wild desires 
For name and fame, are lightning fires. 



16 SY BELLE. 

That bum and flash, and flash and burn, 

And on themselves in vengeance turn, 

That in their isolation driven 

They touch not earth, they reach not heaven. 

God's pity for the helpless cloud ! 

It foils and fades, a cold gray shroud, 

From whose thin folds no blessed rain 

Shall ever reach the thirsty plain. 

With lightnings breathing quick and warm 

Through all its elements of storm. 

Alone, it faints, it fades from sight. 

In silence in the silent night. 

It may be well. It may be, too, 

That Raimond's cruel words were true; 

That all the hopes within me born, 

Like gossamers of summer morn, 

With flaunting breadth of jewelled rim, 

Would in the world's broad light grow dim, 

And long ere noon their death doom meet, 

From eager hands and trampling feet 

Intent but on the rijjened wheat. 

The world, he says, has little need 

Of blossoms culled from bank and mead ; 

Out of its young romancings grown, 

Aside its dew-si^rent sandals thrown. 

It storms abroad in active strife, 

Full of such earnestness of life, 

That only high, heart moving songs. 

Of love, and truth, and clashing wrongs 

And rights, its stern, strong heart can move. 

O, what is life ? and what is love ? 

What is the world '? and what am I ? 



SYBELLE. X7 

Too feeble from this tlirall to fly, 
Too strong to be content and tame, 
Must I still, like yon lightning flame. 
Turn on myself? O passing breeze, 
Bring down some answer from the trees ! 
O sweet June roses, buds that shiver 
In these light winds, beloved river, 
And tender stems of grass that quiver 
Where e'er I tread ! O forest birds 
That sing to me in no vain words ! 

many fashioned j:)oet leaves, 

Along whose lines the night wind weaves 

Sublimest harmonies ! O light 

Of this sweet eve ! O holy night. 

That praiseth God w^ith starry speech ! 

Have I learned so much that ye teach. 

Lived with, loved, worshiped ye so long. 

That my soul seems yourselves in song, 

Yet knows not life, nor love, nor truth. 

Such as give song immortal youth, 

And to all time a deathless name 

Linked with high thoughts, themselves their fame ? 

1 thought I lived; he calls it dreaming: 
Here then forever ends this seeming. 

I waken now. Waft back, O breeze. 
Farewells to blossoms, birds and trees ; 
Life needs them not, and I no more 
Bend in sweet worship as before. 
At your pure altars. I must learn 
What life is ; with high purpose turn 
To other teachers, even to him 
At whose light words my hopes grew dim. 



18 SYBELLE. 

The hand that laid these idols low, 
Shall others in their place bestow. 
The lip that smiled its pitying praise, 
And called my offerings girlish lays, 
Pretty and tender, yet shall give 
The homage that to win I live ! 
O he would have a lightning flash 
In every word, a thunder crash 
In every line, and tempests hurled 
Through each fair page to please the world ! 
Well, will he but the lesson teach, 
My mind can grasp all his can reach : 
Come, life ! " 

Lo, echoing to the word, 
Along the valley path is heard 
A firm, light step. It sounds so near. 
The maiden starts as if in fear. 

" Sybelle ! " 

The voice was soft and low. 
Paled on her cheek the angry glow , 
And such a bright and flitting smile 
As sunset gave the leaves the while, 
Touched the red lips, but quickly died. 
And left the place to scornful pride. 
She scorned herself that self-betrayed 
So bare her inmost soul was laid 
Even to the flowers ; and what if he, 
Half feared, half reverenced, could it be 
That Raimond, idly dreaming near, 
Had chanced her wild, strange words to hear ? 



S Y B E L L E. 1Q 

And if he had, she thought, was 2)ride 
E'er yet in woman's need denied ? 
Alas, it sadly fails hex- now ; 
The blood flies burning to her brow, 
She speaks his name, but vainly tries 
To raise to his her drooping eyes. 
Then murmurs, less in pride than guilt, 
" Rei^roach and censure if thou wilt." 

He read her speaking face too well. 
He took her hand : 

" Fair child, Sybelle, 
No censure, no reproachful word 
For you can from my lips be heard, 
Even might I venture now to guess 
What caused this passionate distress. 
Did some strange vision come to you ? 
I have been watching visions too. 
See where I sat, far up between 
The trees that skirt the hillside green ; 
A soft, low, mossy mound is there, 
Fringed round with ferns and blossoms fair, 
And fitter for a fairy's throne 
Than for these lengthened limbs I own. 
Yet what I could of kingly grace 
I summoned to adorn the place, 
And sat, a king o'er such a land 
As ne'er was won by warrior brand. 
Long gazing at the golden fill 
Of glory down heaven's western wall, 
I saw, or fancied that I saw, 
An angel hand the curtain draw : 



20 SY BELLE. 

All angel form came softly through ; 
It did not fly, for much like you, 
No wings upon its shoulders grew ! 
Down toward a bright, celestial stream 
It moved, as you move when you dream, 
In maiden pride, with charm so sweet 
As makes all other charms comj^lete, 
The outward motion but revealing 
The inward strength and grace of feeling. 
So moved the angel, and her eyes 
Were looking toward the southern skies ; 
A soft, blue drapery round her fell, 
Such as you wear to-night, Sybelle. 
I know not hoAV, perhaps I dreamed, 
But as I gazed, the vision seemed 
Most like to you ; and then I thought. 
By some romantic fancy caught. 
Your steps in dangerous nearness strayed 
To where the treacherous river played ; 
And, hero-like, I ran to save 
A heroine from a watery grave ! 
Now, though the race be all in vain, 
A hero should some guerdon gain. 
Slight though it be ; then come, Sybelle, 
Soon fall the dews in this low dell, 
While fliir along yon wooded height 
Yet lies the sunset's yellow light. 
Come where the winding pathway trails 
Its truant course through dainty vales. 
Creeping and idling as it goes. 
By mossy mounds and blooms of rose. 
Yet upward still in its sweet way. 



SYBELLE. 21 

From twilights dim to where the day 
Shines clear along the broad highway. 
Idling like it shall be our walk, 
And pleasant as its way our talk. 

" I wonder much, Sybelle, of late. 
What moody spirits round you wait. 
Where are the fluttering, airy things 
That fanned you with their gauzy wings ; 
That fed you nectar, kept you singing, 
In strains like fairy music ringing — 
That in your path their rose leaves flung, 
And all around you rainbows hung ? 
You smile, but still your song, or lute, 
To speak in poet phrase, is mute ; 
Your brow looks cramped as if in pain. 
What goblin scared your fairy train, 
Swept the sweet rose leaves from your path, 
And stole your rainbows in his wrath ? 
I would I knew his name, Sybelle ; 
As my reward I i^ray you tell 
What looks he like, what name he bears, 
And where and how he spread the snares 
To do such cruel, ruthless wi'ong. 
As capture all your birds of song I 
Sometimes you seem all lonely straying 
To mournful marches round you playing, 
And then all strength and Are and scorn. 
As though you were a comet born, 
And cared not where the planets went 
So you flashed through the firmament. 
This is not right, this is not life, 



22 S Y B E L L E. 

Come, tell me Avliy this mental strife ; 

The dreary wilderness disclose 

Where you are suffering thus ; who knows ! 

Your life a Marah's stream may be, 

The prophet I to find the tree 

Whose healing balm can sAveetness give, 

And bid the wanderer drink and live." 

Half gay, yet tender and sincere, 
The words fell soothing on her ear. 
Though well through all that playful art 
She feared he read her inmost heart. 
Nor could his tenderness subdue 
The rebel fires upflashing through 
The quick eyes lifted to his own, 
And trembling in her eager tone. 

" O might I only find the stream, 
No matter what its bitterness, 
One deep, long draught would sweeter seem. 
Than all these years of nothingness ! " 

" Sybelle, life's stream is flowing here. 
Even at your feet, so calm and clear. 
So pure and sweet ; why should you shrink 
From its unsullied depths to drink ? 
Why turn toward stormier waves your eye. 
While these untasted pass you by ? " 

" I must have more of life," she said ; 
" I cannot breathe in this dull round ; 
Too low this sky droops overhead. 
And by this close horizon bound 



S Y B E L L E . 23 

All thought grows narrow, cramped, and tame, 

Years pass, and others come the same ; 

Changeless in change they come and go, 

And I but watch their ebb and flow. 

My pale pink roses bloom and fade, 

My tunid violets haunt the shade, 

My sunflowers, rimmed and rayed with gold. 

Stand in their summer worship bold, 

With just as much of life as I 

Beneath this sj^ot of summer sky." 

" Yet you seemed happy when I came. 

Scarce one brief year ago, Sybeile; 
Ah ! now I guess the goblin's name, 

"Whose presence broke your fairy spell. 
O, he shall penance do more dire 
Than quenching thirst with draughts of fire ! 
Was it my hand unstrung your lyre, 
Sybeile?" 

So sudden changed his tone, 

The maiden started from liis side ; 
His searching glances met her own, 

And heart to questioning heart replied. 
From her proud, tender eyes the ray 
Showed that ambition held its sway 
O'er every passion of her breast. 
Though scarce her woman's pride repressed 
The tears at what those eyes confessed. 
That instant, mute appeal for aid 
His instant answering glance repaid, 
From calm, clear eyes that said so well, 
You cannot ask in vain, Sybeile. 



24 S Y B E L L E . 

Slow, by tlie broad highway they pass, 
Slow o'er the clover-siirinklecl grass, 
Down the long lane where sunset throws 
Its last ray on the maple rows, 
And pause where climbing roses twine 
With clusters of the dark musk vine 
Around the cottage porch, and fall 
A robe of beauty o'er its wall. 

Along the months so quickly fled 
Have Raimond's hurried glances sped. 
Recalling how, when first a guest 
In this green valley of the west. 
Brain-weary, worn with toil he sought 
Forgetfulness of life, of thought. 
And calm repose to cool the flame 
Of fever burning through his frame. 
He listened to Sybelle's sweet lay ; 
How pleased he read the artless play 
Of her pure thoughts, caught from the breeze, 
The birds, brooks, flowers and forest trees. 
Through which her soul breathed all the grace 
That nature gave her form and face ; 
Recalling too the proud surprise 
Tliat flashed light from her happy eyes. 
When he had wondered why so long- 
Had been unheard her voice of song ; 
And then the still, sad, thoughtful air 
With which she nerved herself to bear 
All he had said the world would claim 
From those who dared to ask for flxme ; 
Her changed and Avayward moods, and now, 
The pleading eyes, the sweet, fair broAv, 



S Y B E L L E. 25 

That looked so full of thought and pain, 
So weary of its troubled brain ; 
The strangely passionate words that sprung 
So oft, so eager from her tongue — 
Yes, that brief, backward glance revealed 
All that Sybelle's proud heart concealed. 
He saw her motives high and pure ; 
Though doubtful yet, and half obscure 
Within his brain the question seemed,' 
Whether she waked or wildly dreamed. 

" I almost grieve," he said, " Sybelle, 
That e'er my darkening shadow fell, 
So like a fated, restless wraith. 
Across your quiet woodland path. 
Not for myself — no, heaven knows 
I never found a fairer rose, 
Or music heard more pure and sweet 
Than that which charms this lone retreat, 
And holds me hei-e, a willing guest; 
And I, Sybelle, were doubly blest, 
If aught I bring of worldly store. 
Could add to your unstudied lore 
One worthy element or thought 
By that strange world's experience taught. 
I would atone, if thus I might. 

For words in seeming harshness spoken. 
Though never yet came day's foir light 

Till morning clouds and dreams were broken. 
Still, haply might the woodland stream 
Choose in its twilight haunts to dream, 
And rather watch the pale stars shine. 



2(5 S Y B £ L L E. 

Than yield to guidance rude as mine, 

To lead it where, with burning ray, 

The sun pours down the jjeifect day. 

You sigh, and turn your weary eyes, 

As if afar, in foreign skies 

Alone that longed-for day might be, 

With years between its light and thee. 

So heard I sighing, yester-morn. 

The hillside brook beneath the thorn. 

Thou knowest, Sybelle, what blushing ranks 

Of roses bend along its banks ; 

I think they grow so very fair 

For love of her who placed them there. 

But yester-morn the wind shook down 

The hawthorn's snowy garland crown ; 

And the meek roses, bending lower. 

Ripe to the crimson-tinted core, 

Dropped all their incense-breathing bloom, 

Shrouding the stream in such sweet gloom, 

It saw no heaven above it shine,_ 

And pined as now I heard you pine — 

When will the perfect day be mine ? 

Your life has been a low sweet psalm, 

A woodland streamlet, clear and calm. 

In happy tones its music blending 

With bloom of flowers its banks o'erbending, 

Yet ever deejier, stronger growing 

From wayside fountains to it flowing. 

And pressing like a human soul 

Unconscious toward its destined goal. 

Seeking by ways it might not know 

The sea where life's deep waters flow. 



S Y B E L L E. 27 

"You sigh foi" fame. O forest child, 
Though o'er your birth the muses smiled, 
Though step by step in childhood's hours 
They led you through enchanted bowers, 
Though round your maiden brow were wreathed 
Their crowns, and on your lips were breathed 
Their inspirations pure and high, 
All these are still but prophecy, 
]^ot deeds, that give you right to claim 
That proud reward the world calls fame. 
Ah, little cares that world to know 
Wliat time your wildwood roses blow ; 
How dimpling flows your forest stream, 
Or how in twilight bowers you dream, 
Ti'anced by the blended harmonies 
Of summer leaves and sunset skies. 
It would have thoughts born of the strife. 
The conflicts of your hidden life. 
Great truths from nature, and, as meet 
From woman's hand, inwoven sweet 
With tender human sympathies — 
Love, grief, and joy; such themes as these 
Reach its great heart, if from your own 
Springs the key note, the iiioving tone, 
The spark magnetic that alone 
Touches all natures, and can thrill 
The world obedient to one will. 
O never poet's subtlest art 

Could weave you laurels from the air; 
Go down into your woman's heart. 

And find your own crown jewels there ! 
Turn from the flowery, dim ideal, 



28 SYBELLE. 

And live and sing the present real. 

Your own still life upon you palls — 

Look out beyond your garden walls; 

Xo close horizon's bound is there, 

Nor low-drooped skies nor stagnant air. 

The West ! to me the very name 

Sends blood new bounding through the frame. 

In wilds like these, if e'er on earth, 

Might giants claim immortal birth. 

True life is here, and brave and strong, 

Is working out a nation's song, 

As foot by foot it marks the lines 

From tropic plains to arctic pines. 

And stanza after stanza sweeps 

From prairie bounds to mountain steeps, 

The golden chorus ringing o'er 

The broad, foir land from shore to shore. 

Thought grows not tame in life like this. 

Nor w^ere those years of nothingness 

That round your young, pure being threw 

Their bloom and shine, and sweet life dew; 

Their springtime sunlights soft and dear. 

Their autumn shadows chill and drear, 

The splendors of their summer bloom, 

Their Avinter nights of storm and gloom, 

All were to you as suns, and shoAvers, 

And winds, and dews are to your flowers ; 

All molding you as they are molded, 

"When in the silent seed enfolded, 

In perfect form embalmed they lie, 

A slow unfolding mystery. 

Nor breath of Avind,nor fall of rain, 

Nor dews nor sunlit skies were vain. 



S Y B E L L E. 29 

" Still in your eager, asking eyes 
And on your lip unansAverecl lies 
Your heart's great question. Ah, Sybelle, 
Words are of little worth to tell 
What life is. Life alone can give 
Your answer — such as they must live 
Who dare its doubtful strife to meet 

Matched hand to hand and soul to soul, 
Nor dream of rest, nor know defeat 

Though baffled oft ; but to the goal 
For gain or fame, for good or ill. 
Wage the stern war with tireless will ; 
Some grasping pleasure as they go. 
But crowning victory with their woe ; 
Some worn and weary, conquering all. 
And some the strongest, first to fall. 
It is of that fierce warring world, 
Of life in seeming chaos hurled, 
Of mind to clashing mind opposed. 
Of fates in life-long contest closed. 
Of thought and passion, soul and sense — 
The realm of mind's omnipotence, 
That you are thirsting thus to know ; 
I read it in your cheek's bright glow, 
I see your small hand closer clasped 
As if some weapon it had grasped. 
And dark flames kindling in your eyes 
Uplifted toward the twilight skies. 
Where neither sky nor stars joxi see, 
But far and dim, like prophecy. 
That distant world whose murmur comes 
To you like beat of rallying drums 



30 SY BELLE. 

To armed and eager ranks, wlio wait 
The signal note to seize their fate. 

" Sybelle, you know how worn and pale, 
And weary, to your quiet vale 
For rest I came ; how like a child 
I wandered in these foi'ests wild, 
Pleased as a child whole summer days 
To drown in that sweet, dreamy haze, 
Made up of blossom-scents and song 
Of birds and bees and sounds that throng 
All fresh green summer w'oods ; and how 
When brown nuts ripened on the bough, 
Boy-like I grew with growing health, 
And reveled in the autumn Avealth 
Of forest fruits and painted leaves ; 

Or helped the falloAV fields to sow, 
Or clindDcd the stacks to toss the sheaves 

Into the thresher's jaws below ; 
Or with the merry husking band. 
In mimic contest, hand to hand 
With practiced men my strength I plied. 
Or at the plow my sinews tried ; 
Then vied with boys in winter sports 
Of skating feats and snow-built forts ; 
Or with mute flocks and cattle sought 
Companionship absolved from thought ; 
How to the slow-awakening spring 
I lent my awkward aid, to bring 
Your garden walks and beds and blooms 
Out of their shroud of winter glooms ; 
Or with the planter's j^ouch and hoe 



S Y B E L L E. 31 

Traced o'er the fields the furrowed row, 
Or sought for friends among the broods 
Of birds that haunt your pleasant woods, 
Or squirrels chattering through the glen — 
All, anything but books and men 
I welcomed ; and not all in vain. 
To nerves unstrung, exhausted brain. 
And nature all o'ertasked to gain 
A triumph for the mind. I won 

That dear-bought victory, Sybelle, 
Against most fearful odds. The sun 

Day after day, and light that fell 
From midnight moons, and evening stars. 
And mornings gray tlirough cloudy bars, 
For months scarce noticed, came and went. 
And foimd me still nntiring,bent, 
Soul, mind and body to that strife 

Of mind with might, to win the right. 
That triumph won was won for life ; 

But lost, had left me still in night. 

Groping and struggling for the light. 
From that long, stormy war to rest, 
A wearied child I sought the west. 
And threw myself on nature's breast. 
So many flowers were blooming here. 
So many song birds charmed my ear, 
I loved to lie beside the stream 
And blend them all in one sweet dream, 
Yom-self among them. Was it wrong ? 
Your song so like the thrush's song, 
"When it comes low and trilling through 
The deep woods heavy with mist dew. 



32 Sy BELLE. 

Foretelling soft, sweet summer rain ; 

Your face so like your roses fair, 
I own I felt a thrill of pain 

To find that you had thought or care, 
More than your hapjjy birds and flowers. 
For life beyond your wildwood bowers. 
Selfish ! ungenerous ! In your eyes 
I see the accusations rise. 
Forgive, Sybelle, that selfishness. 
When rest from thought to me was bliss, 
I chafed to think of mammon's crown 
Bending the dewy roses down. 
Or thrushes singing for renown ! 
But all you ask is your own right. 
Since even your roses seek the light, 
And lovelier grow therein. Now, strong 
In mind and heart to right the wrong. 
Such hapi^y penance would I do. 
As with my pupil wander through 
The fields of thought that wide unroll 
From history's almost magic scroll. 
From the far dim and distant ages, • 
Grand j^rophet bards and hero sages 
Shall meet us there ; poetic fires 
Shall flash again along their lyres — 
That true inspired flame that leads 

Thought upward by its heavenly glow, 
A fire from heaven, embalming deeds 

Of men whom gods Avere proud to know. 
And kings of nature's royal race, 

Noblest among the sons of light. 
Old kings of thought, Avho hold their place 

Secui-e by mind's divinest ris^ht 



S Y B E L L E. 

Above the sceptre, throne and crown, 
Shnll from their heiglits serene look down 
Their blessings on our pilgrimage. 
As wandering on fi'om age to age. 
We find the seed their hands have sown 
To ripened fruit and vintage grown. 
Those fruits we taste, that living wine 
Shall make us like themselves divine — 
Divine like theirs our lives to sow 
With thoughts that shall immortal grow. 
And harps of pleasant-sounding string 
The bards of later birth shall bring — 
Interpreters of life and thought. 
Teaching us how the world is taught. 
So shall you by their lessons learn 
What fires on poet altars burn ; 
How they alone successful sing, 
Who know with skill to touch the string 
To which all human j^assions cling 

The chord of human sympathy : 
It vibrates to ambition's claim 
The welcome, wished-for echo, fame ; 
It thrills to love's pervading flame. 

Though all unknown the hand may be 
Whose fingers warm, from warmer heart, 
The sympathetic fires impart ; 
It trembles deep to sorrow's moan. 
Or lightly bounds to pleasure's tone ; 
And he the truest poet lives, 

Who, daring to be true and strong, 
To human passions fearless gives 

Expression in ennobling song. 



33 



34 S Y B E L L E. 

Fame on sucli brows lier crown confers — 
The world is proud of conquerors ; 
And life is better worth our breath 

That they are born who dare to live, 
Who scorn the coward's daily death, 

And claim of life all it can give. 

" Life and the world ! I feel again 
Their call through strengthened frame and brain, 
Warning the truant back. Too long- 
lie lingers in this vale of song. 
Still, ere he go, he fain would dream 
One summer hour beside the stream. 
While yet along its tranquil vale 
It Avoos the wild flo^vers bending pale, 
Reading what strange, sweet prophecy 
In its unresting depths may be, 
And guiding with what skill he may 
Its progress toAvard the brighter day 
It seeks ; till from the hill and glade 
The slumbrous summer haze shall fltde, 
Till over wood and cottage wall 
No more the harvest moonlights fall — 
An hour of months, yet all too briei^ 
Till autumn drops her warning leaf. 
Then, strong to measure might again 
With iron wills of iron men, 
His dreaming ends, himself content, 

Nay, blest, if he one joy may give 
To those sweet eyes upon him bent 

In earnest asking but to live." 



S Y B E L L E. 35 

Slow from its forest dream awaking, 
With noon's broad sunlight o'er it breaking, 
Through all its waves, the streamlet clear 
Trembles with joy akin to fear. 
To find its ocean soal so near ! 



Sybelle, thou hast pressed to thy thirsting lip 
A cup the bravest might fear to sip. 
Was ever a goblet of brimming bliss 
So crowned with the promise of life as this ? 
And did ever a mad bacchante clasp 
A more fatal cup in her trembling grasp, 
Or drain to the dregs from its rosy brim 
Where she saw not the beaded poison swim, 
With a wilder joy than thine eager soul 
Hath gi'asped and will drink from this tempting bowl? 
No voice to thy heart hath whispered of fear, 
No warning floats up through the nectar clear. 
Thou hast heard but the one endearing tone 
That low to thy listening ear alone. 
Hath said, it is life ! Thou dost fearless stand, 
With the wreathed and crowned cup in thy hand. 
Thy lips are jDressed to the brim overflowing, 
Deeper and warmer the rich draught is growing. 
Richer and warmer its currents are glowing 
Through all thy young being. What madness is 

thine. 
To dream life alone can give joy so divine ! 



That hour of months was all too brief — 
Tke thresher waits the ripened sheaf, 



36 SYBELLE. 

The summer's purple haze is gone, 
The wan moon at the gates of dawn 
Dethroned and sceptreless lays down, 
Sad queen, her glorious harvest crown, 
And fast o'er all the vale and plain 
Fall autumn's warning leaves — in vain ! 



Low moans the sad autumnal gale, 
It will not let the dead leaves rest, 

See one by one adown the vale 

It flings them on the streamlet's breast. 

Poor withered leaves, poor silent stream, 
Together died your bloom and song, 

How brief for you the summer dream, 
For you the autumn gloom how long. 

The dreary winds moan sad and low, 
The dead leaves sink beneath the wave. 

The streamlet murmurs in its flow 
As if it too would find a grave. 

O murmuring one, thy ocean tomb 
Far in the future years will be, 

And leaves will bud and flowrets bloom 
Along this silent vale for thee. 

Low sounds November's latest sigh. 
Soft fall the snows above his bier. 

And bloom and song and beauty die 
While winter shrouds the buried year 



B Y B E L L E. 37 

But life is wakening in the vale 

Again beneath the skies of May; 
And June's sweet rose and lily pale 

Bend o'er the wandering streamlet's way. 

Yet not one passion-dimpled smile 

Awakes for rose or lily fair, 
And plaintive moans the brook the while 

Beneath the bloom and foliage rare. 

But soft amid the summer light 

A mystic lay of love is sung, 
O not for wild flowers wreathing bright 

Or leaves upon her bosom flung. 

A cloud floats in the skies above — 

An angel presence, half at rest. 
With soft enfolding wings of love, 

Deep mirrored in the streamlet's breast. 

That sunbright cloud ! how low it bends ! 

What joy its heaven-born beauty brings! 
With hers its being almost blends. 

It folds her with its shadowy wings. 

From bank to bank the bi'ook's sweet lay 
The thrilled and rij^pling wavelets bear ; 

She lingers on her tranced way. 
Her cloud love lingers in the air. 

On her soft breast his image lies. 
And he for such sweet joy as this 



38 S Y B E L L E . 

Would almost leave his azure skies 
And melt amid those depths of bliss. 

It may not be. O bending cloud, 

Away — the parched earth calls thee now ; 

Amid the gathering storm-kings proud 
There is no prouder one than thou. 

Away ! thy lightning sword must flash 
In stormy scenes and stirring strife, 

Where battling ranks with thunder crash 
Meet on the tented fields of life. 

But ever 'mid that discord Avild, 

Will come to thee in grief or wrong 

The memory of the forest child, 

The wayward brooklet's love and song. 

It may not be: alas, fond stream, 

Though mirrored in each trembling wave 

ThouFt bear thy cloud love like a dream, 
A shadow to thy ocean grave. 

With quiet songs adown the vale 

Thou still may'st chant thy hapless lay. 

Beneath November's storm clouds pale, 
Beneath the blushing skies of May: 

But dearer than the heavens above. 

Or summer flowers that round thee bloom, 

The memory of that cloud-land love 
Thou bearest to thy ocean tomb. 



S YBELLE 



PART II. 



The sunset tints of amber light 
Flame up the western skies to-night, 
A broad, foir sea of burnished gold, 
With cloudland shores around it rolled ; 
"While like some glorious tropic isle 
Where summer suns eternal smile. 
One radiant star as day declines 
Amid that sea of splendor shines. 
An island heaven, where angels stand. 
And wistful gaze on that far land 
Whose cloud-enfolded mystery seems 
The hidden goal of life-long dreams. 
They see, slow moving to and fro, 
The phantom shadows come and go; 
They hear such music from afar 
As never blessed their island star; 
And bending o'er those crystal deeps 
Where calm the pallid twilight sleeps, 
Wave far and wide their glittering plumes, 
Till flashing o'er the distant glooms 
They meet those beckoning forms of air. 
And sink in silent darkness where 



40 S Y B E L L E . 

The rippling waves of melting gold 
Around those cloudland shores are rolled. 

O come thou cynic cold and stern ; 
Come vestal from thy burial urn ; 
Come cowled priest, whose dream of life 
At best is but a fearful strife, 
A guilty barter on thy part 
Of all thou hast of God or heart, 
For living death in such a grave 
As God to nature never gave ; 
Come watch the fires of fading day 
Amid the gathering shadows play. 
*8ee how the daylight veils her face 
With blushes in the night's embrace. 
And how upon yon cloud's dark breast 
Tlie impassioned lightning finds its rest. 
While bending from their thrones on high 
The star-eyed angels smile to die. 
If for such bliss their death atone 
As visits not their Eden lone. 
Though round their heaven such glory lies 
They cloud- ward bend their longing eyes. 
And trembling with a strange desire, 
Slow raise their quivering wings of fire, 
Forsake their thrones of light serene. 
Speed o'er the amber deeps between, 
And panting clasp those airy forms 
To sink amid a night of storms, 
More blest that wild desire to tame 
Though darkness shroud their forms of flame ; 
More blest those quivering wings to fold 



S Y B E L L E. 

O'er pulses stilled and passions cold, 
Than treed alike from bliss and pain 
In yon empyrean inive to reign. 

O what can virtue know of love, 
When ice cold hands are clasped above 
A bosom passionless as snow ? 
And what can love of virtue know, 
When isolate, serene and lone, 
It triumphs on its marble throne ? 
The deserts clasp their own green isles ; 

To arid sands are fountains singing ; 
The blasted tree in vei'dure smiles 

With moss and vine leaves round it clinging. 
The cold, bright icebergs borne afar 
From realms beneath the polar star. 
Give vigor to the languid breeze 
That faints amid the tropic seas. 
Then bend to meet the clasping wave. 
At once their altar and their grave. 
And lo, along yon clouded skies, 
As mystic boreal torches rise, 
Soft flashing o'er the deepening night, 
They bathe the heavens in pitrple light. 
Till earth, but now a darkened tomb. 
Is blushing back a rosy bloom — 
All thrilled and tremulous she glows 
Beneath the light from arctic snows, 
With flames more subtle, more divine 
Than from the noonday splendors shine. 

Who would forever craze on heaven 



41 



42 SYBELLE. 

If to its blue no clouds were given ? 
Or bless the sun's eternal light 
If nature gave no cliange of night? 
.V stagnant jDool the Avaveless sea 
Within its silent shores would be ; 
And earth one broad Sahara made 
Without its blended light and shade. 
No flower of living joy may bloom 
That springs not from another's tomb , 
And life and love are only true, 
When with the thorns and cross in view, 
With patient strength and faith sublime 
They dare the mount of woe to climb, 
And brave death's dark ordeal through. 
Its conquerors and its victims too. 

What can they know of life who stand 
Alone amid the desert's sand ; 
Or shrink some cheerless cell Avithin 
To die of coward shame and sin ? 
Even pleasure grasps her own sweet rose. 
Though sharp the thorn beneath it grows ; 
The cross where martyred virtue prays 
Alone is crowned with glory's rays ; 
And heaven's high portals are undone 
Through suffering of the Sinless One. 
The daring heart, the hand of steel 
Alone the conqueror's joy can feel. 
Then welcome nature's ceaseless strife, 
Her life in death, and death in life, 
And let the pale lips joyful press 
The cup they have not strength to bless — 



S Y B E L L E. 43 

Life's bitter cup, where love divine 
Ilath mingled wormwood with the wine. 

O there be human hearts that crave 
More of the world than just a grave ; 
AVhile life has so much more to give 
They must have more than just to live. 
They would not breathe if breath were all 
That bound them here in being's thrall ; 
They cannot fold their hands and pine 
Beside life's goblet brimmed with wine, 
With thirsty lip and longing eye 
Dream that they dream, and dreaming die 
To make life one long breathing lie. 
Though all those purple depths may glow 
"With blended drops of bliss and woe, 
With promise of but dregs at last 
When the delirious draught is past, 
It matters not : there be who drain 
And wish the goblet filled again, 
So sweet it is in life to prove 
All hearts can know of life and love. 

Such mingled draught was thine, Sybelle, 
Though drawn from love's enchanted well. 
Though sweet with all its honeyed store, 
With beaded kisses brimming o'er, 
And Avarm Avith that most subtle power 
Love has o'er life in passion's hour. 
O sweet and warm on lip and tongue, 
And thrilling as the songs you sung, 
Down to vour heart the maddening^ drauaht 



44 S Y B E L L E. 

Went burning still and still you quaffed, 

Till over lip and brow and brain 

The fiery nectar flushed again. 

And though the gall-drops blended there 

Blanched from your cheeks the roses fair, 

And clouded your calm, trustful eyes 

With something of the world's disguise, 

Though darker for the glory gone 

The future's sunless years come on, 

Still could your life go back once more. 

As gladly, wildly as before, 

With all that craving thirst of soul. 

Your hands would grasp the proffered bowl, 

And to the dregs, if dregs there be. 

Your lips would drain it eagerly : 

'Twere worth all life can know of pain. 

To love and be so loved again ! 

No longer now within those eyes. 
Or on that lip unanswered lies 
The heart's great question. O'er and o'er, 
Each day more clearly than before. 
Two hearts in conscious silence prove. 
That love is life and life is love. 
What other power than love could throw 
O'er all thy world so warm a glow, 
Or wake within that sylvan dell 
Such songs from thy sweet lips, Sybelle? 



Open, O buds, to the light that is shining, 
Waiting and pleading to bless. 

Pale in your pale hearts no longer repining 
Wake to the soft wind's caress. 



S Y B E L L E. 45 

Sunlight and south winds are pleading to you, 
Night bathes your lips with her kisses of dew, 
Morn gives you draughts of her balmiest rain. 
Open, O buds of the valley and plain, 
The summer is here in her fulness of bliss. 
Why slee]) through a life of such beauty as this ? 

Dreaming like you "with life's light o'er me shining, 

Waiting and pleading to bless, 
Cold in my cold heart I murmured, repining. 

Shrinking from beauty's caress — 
Beauty that wooed me to nature's pure arms, 
Crowded and crowned all my days with its charms. 
Longing and dreaming of life more complete, 
Scorning the perfect one cast at my feet, 
A.nd closing my eyes to its promise of bliss, 
I slept as you sleep 'mid such beauty as this. 

Welcoming now the pure light that is shining, 

Pleading no longer in vain. 
Flowers that I scorned in my childish repining. 

Open to bless me again. 
Winds that bring balm from the tropic isles blest. 
Birds that sing low from the summer-full nest, 
Grasses that quiver with life at my feet, 
Kiver full brimmed with the summer rains sweet, 
Proud trees bending low in your stillness of bliss, 
What spell hath enwrapped you with beauty like 
this ? 

Soft through the valley a splendor is shining, 
Softly and golden it falls. 



46 S Y B E L L E. 

Over the trees with their branches entwining, 

Over the low cottage walls, 
Over the fields with their harvests and herds. 
Over the blossoms, the river, the birds, 
All nature so glowing and living in light, 
Day giving Avarmth to the glory of night — 
O heart how long darkened and dead to all bliss, 
That lived and yet lived not in beauty like this ! 



As waking from a troubled dream 
Amid a world of light I stand. 

By waters whose unfailing flow 

Gleams ever bright o'er golden sand. 

I breathe a blessing on thy name, 
My guide to fountains so divine ; 

I drink, believing only life 

Can come from hand so pure as thine. 

No mad bacchante's poisoned cup 
Is this that to my lip is pressed. 

No rosy wine inspires such bliss 

As thou hast waked within my breast. 

Thy words were like the prophet's wand. 
They touched the rock, and to thy side 

How quick the living waters sprang, 
Delighted in thy sight to glide. 

Now bending o'er the crystal wave 

I fill life's goblet unto thee, 
And pledge thee by that love alone 

From thought of earthly passion free. 



S Y B E L L E. 47 

No bittei" drops from Marah's stream 

Are mingled in the cup I drain, 
And pure as thou to me liast given 

I give it back to thee again. 

O take it from the grateful hand 
That fills it brimming o'er for thee, 

And pledge me by that love alone 
From thought of eartlily passion free. 



BloAV soft and low, sweet southern wind, 
Blow warm and low, and swift unbind 
Tlie fettered snowdrop ; jjale she lies. 
Till thou unclose her sealed eyes ; 
Pale in her cell the violet weeps, 
And pale the sainted lily sleeps — 
A poet dreaming over rhymes, 

With sweet bells waiting all in tune 
To welcome in with fragrant chimes 

Thy bridal with the rose of June. 
Sweet rose with thorns enguarded round, 
And pale in clasping calyx bound, 
No longer at thy emerald gates 
The wind Avith patient wooing waits ; 
Though thorns may point around, above, 
Thorns pierce not half so deep as love. 
Stung by that passion-barbed desire. 
With tropic breath and pulse of fire 
Thy lover comes ; along his Avay 
The snowdrop fainted where she lay; 
He kissed the violet's tears away ; 
He touched the waiting lily bells. 



48 SY BELLE. 

Their chime his waiting bliss foretells. 

In vain in trij^le order stand 

Those serried guards, a bristling band, 

He comes to thee nnhai-med through harms, 

He folds thee in his eager arms, 

His sighs the calyx bands iinpart. 

His kisses wake and wann thy heart. 

Till crimson blushes, self-confessing. 

Thy willing lips to his are pressing, 

And both, with clasp and sigh and kiss, 

Rest perfect in your bloom and bliss. 

How long the silent woods among, 

The willow boughs in silence hung ; 

How pale, with life half understood, 

The still flowers waited in the wood, 

Or only stirred by passing wing. 

Or by tlie fickle winds of Spring, 

Till Summer came. Sweet Summer wind, 

Thy loves the forest tongues imbind : 

Life breaks in bloom from shrub and tree, 

The wild flowers flush and pale for thee, 

And whisper low through all the grove, 

O love is life, and life is love ! 

And low among her trembling leaves 

Her own love song the willow weaves. 



Come close within these clasping arms, 
O weary wandering Summer wind, 

And let the lithe and drooping boughs 
Be with thy viewless being twined; 

Then murmuring back thy whispered love 
And folded in thy dear caress, 

This charmed life to both shall prove 



S Y B E L L E. 49 

One long sweet dream of blessedness. 
Come closer yet ; the Avillow bends 

Her glorious poet love to meet, 
Her wreathing arms are round thee twined 

In fond caresses, wild as sweet. 
Each quivering leaf that turns to tliee 

Is witness of the love fires warm, 
First fanned to life by thy soft breath 

And glowing sweet through all her form. 
And each wild, passion-kindled song 

Thou hearest in thy minstrel tree. 
Thy presence hath inspired alone — 

'Tis sung, O poet love, for thee ! 
Thy breath parts all the gloomy boughs 

Till golden noon froni azure skies, 
And morning's blush and evening's smile, 

And light from midnight's starry eyes, 
And all the joy of beauty born, 

In earth or air, beneath, above, 
So blended with thy presence seem 

That all alike awaken love. 
Then while Avithin the minstrel tree 

The willow's poet love may stay, 
O wonder not she loves for him 

To weave the warm, impassioned lay ; 
That trembling in his clasping arms 

She yields her lips to his fond kiss, 
In that long breathless draught that fills 

Her summer dream Avith perfect bliss ! 



Is it thy spirit. Love, that gloAvs 
Through all the fervid summer air, 
3 



60 SYBELLE. 

Filling the deep woods with repose 

That is not rest — a yearning care, 
A strange and tremulous desire 

Thy own intensest power to learn — 
A breathless longing for that fire 

That all consumes, since it must burn ? 
There is no breath the leaves to move, 

Yet quivering through the glowing hours, 
In rapt unrest they bend above 

The silent, upward-gazing flowers, 
Flowers blushing at their own sweet glow, 
And trembling though no winds may blow; 
As she, the valley's fairest rose, 
Alone where wild the river flo"\vs, 
Blushes and trembles in her dream — 

Her half-awakened dream of love, 
Watching a vision of the stream 

With its white bending cloud above. 

On with ceaseless music ever 
Sweeps and swells the restless river. 
Deeper growing, swifter, stronger — 
Ah, that guiding hand no longer 
Turns at will the yielding current. 
Checks or speeds the rushing torrent. 

Toward the cloud up-gazing ever, 
Smiles and sings the happy river; 
He, an all too willing lover, 
Beckons on and bends above her, 
To her bright waves dimples bringing. 
Paying kisses back for singing. 



SYBELLE. 51 

Whither, whither are ye tending, 
Cloud and stream together blending I 
Passion-blinded, maddened, dying, 
But to quench that fiery sighing, 
Burning cloud and throbbing river, 
In the flame that burns forever ! 

On the gulf's dark brink the river 
One brief instant pauses ever. 
Breathless from its dream awaking, 
Pauses ere that last plunge taking, 
Down to depths where never, never, 
Comes another dream forever ! 

Blinded by love's fatal kisses, 

Will they see those dark abysses ? 

Lo, in music breathing ever, 

To the cloud the waking river, 

' Mid the white spray round her clinging, 

On that tatal brink is singing. 

Startled by the echoes wailing, 
With her cheek now flushing, paling. 
Fair Sybelle, from dreams awaking. 
With that love-light round her breaking, 
Where the warm rays glance and quiver 
Sings beside the waking river. 

" I who placed my hopes above 
All that Avoman hopes from love, 
In my eager grasp for fame 
Plunged into the fital flame. 



52 SY BELLE. 

What but love is this that turns 
All my thoughts to one that burns 
Lava-like through nerve and vein, 
Filling soul and sense and brain ? 
Wliat but love that makes the skies 
Dark, when from those earnest eyes 
Mine must turn with maiden dread, 
Fearful lest the truth be read ? 
What but love makes every tone 
Falling from those lij^s alone 
Sweeter far than music's own, 
Every smile that they have given 
Dearer than my hopes of heaven, 
Every word that they have spoken 
Binding like a spell unbroken 
Since I gave, in trusting hour. 
Thought and being to their power ? 
Yielding to ambition's spell, 
Drinking deep from learning's well, 
I have drank of love as well. 
Lovei Whence came it? I nor sought, 
Knew, nor dreamed it in my thought. 
Childlike to his guiding hand 
Mine I gave, and loved to stand, 
Heedless of my flowers and birds. 
Listening to his dearer words — 
Dear, that to my wondering sight 
They vmveiled such worlds of light ; 
Teaching me that life is where 
Soul and sense Avith being are, 
Bounded not by realm or zone, 
Crowded street or forest lone ; 



S Y B E L L E. 53 

Drawing from the trees and fiowers 
Lessons sweet for summer hours — 
Such as I had never known, 
Though my life Avith theirs had grown ; 
Waking beauty from the sod 
In the very path I trod ; 
Calling back the immortal dead 
From the deathless page we read ; 
Grandest truth and noblest thought 
From those lips new beauty t;aught ; 
Lowliest objects owned the spell 
Where those words of music fell. 
I, who loved the words, have grown 
Strangely dear to prize the tone ; 
Strangely dear the soul to prize 
Looking on me from those eyes 
Bending oft so close above. 
Offering life but taking love — 
Taking, till mine eyes no more 
See the future's shadowy shore, 
For this ever blinding flame 
Shrouding all my hopes of fame ; 
Taking, till my cheek groAvs pale, 
And my throbbing pulses fail. 
When his presence may not give 
That sweet fire on which they live ; 
Till between the heavens and me 
Evermore those eyes I see ; 
Till no other voice I hear, 
Till that smile alone is dear. 
And I tremble with a fear, 
Strange and sweet as sorrow is 



64 S Y B E L L E. 

On the brink of happiness. 
Still with sealed lips and heart 
I mnst act the pupil's part ; 
Listening-, calmly as I may, 
To his teachings day by day, 
As he points with steady hand _ 

Where ambition's votaries stand, 
Gii'ded strong the race to run 
Ere their laurels may be won, 
Urging me ^itli purpose high 
In their fame to share, while I 
All would give if one caress 
On that hand my lips might press. 
Madness ! folly ! But this horn- 
Bend I thus to passion's power; 
Back to life my soul must turn, 
All these idle dreamings spurn : 
Hiding in my heart alone 
All of love that I have known. 
Gathering round me, fold on fold, 
Vestal garments pure and cold, 
On ambition's nobler shrine 
I Biust light the fires divine. 
And beside that deathless flame 
Sing alone for name and fame." 

Ah, proud resolves, you lived your little hour, 
Then drooped and faded as some fragile flower 
Long nursed in shadows chill, may- droop and fail, 
When noon's full blaze falls on its petals pale ! 
Ah, more than Avoman hadst thou been, Sybelle, 
Successful to resist that wondrous spell 



SY BELLE. 55 

Love wrought upon thy woman's heart ! And more 
Tlian man, or less, who daily bending o'er 
The bright, up-giancing stream, could fail to know 
His own form clasped in every wave, while low 
His name blent ever with their murmuring flow. 
Ah, more than man Avho had not longed to lavo 
Lip, brow and bosom in that swelling wave, 
"Who, thirsting unto death in deserts lone, 
"Would shrink to taste a fountain all his own ! 

Love's miracle of love, its life in life is this, 
That breath of time that spans an age of bliss, 
When eyes long gazing into eyes have learned 
All that sweet wisdom by the stoics sjnirned ; 
When lips, long pressing sweeter lips, grow pale 
Giving and taking, and the breath half fail. 
The arms clasp closer, and the burning brain 
Scarce dreams that virtue yet may warn in vain ! 
Blest they who on the gulf's dark brink have turned, 
And, safe with all that dangerous wisdom learned. 
Walked back to life more perfect, pure and strong, 
Full of love's bliss, without its guilty wi'ong ; 
Warm with the breath drawn burning through each 

vein . 
From the sweet lips they dare to ]>ress again, 
Full of the light from eyes more dear than heaven, 
Strong with the strength that clasping arms have 

given. 
By those dear arms and eyes and lips to prove 
That perfect love is life, and life is lo^e. 

With all its perfectness of bliss endowed, 



53 SY BELLE. 

Proud in her happy love, and pure as proud, 
Sybelle, the tmiid forest child, no more 
Walks in vague dreams beside the river shore. 
So many eves through all the summer's prime, 
And glowing noons in golden harvest time, 
So many morns of fading splendor drowned 
In di'eamy forest depths all autumn-browned. 
So many months of days with loving hand 
Has Raimond led her through historic land. 
So long for her the poet's images turned 
While on his lips their inspiration burned. 
So oft, so earnest to her eager mind 
Life's purest aims, its noblest hopes defined, 
Leading her thoughts still outward from her heart 
To claim in great humanities their part, 
That she has caught his spirit's higher tone. 
And pure and strong in his strong nature groAvn ; 
Self-conscious of that strength too, but no less 
A perfect woman in her tenderness. 

And she has grown so beautiful : there lies 
The light of that long summer in her eyes — 
All that came down from the unclouded noons. 
From the love-burning stars and tender moons. 
Made softer, tenderer in those depths of blue. 
By the loved eyes long gazing in them too. 
The pure, fvir cheeks, so rounded, clear and soft. 
Change their bright rose and delicate tints so oft. 
That love may read by his mysterious art 
Quick telegraphic flashes from the heart- 
On the red lips they pla}^ too, those sweet fires, 
To other lips like charged electric wires. 



S Y B E L L E. 57 

All- that warm bloom and half the blue eyes' light 

Are woman's, love's own dower and beauty's right. 

But round the tender mouth so firmly pressed, 

In movements free, yet all so self-possessed, 

In darker flames that sometimes light her eye, 

In the firm calmness of her forehead high. 

And in the voice, true prophet of the soul, 

There lives and speaks, unconscious of control, 

Strong in its gentleness, the spirit pure 

That well can love and silently endure, 

That half its strength and all its passion caught 

From well learned lessons by her lover taught. 

A beautiful, proud, loving woman — one 

Whom Raimond has grown proud to look upon! 

Part of his life, his very soul she seems. 

As if his hand the ideal of his dreams 

Had caught, and prisoned in that living form ; 

As if from his own lips, pure-breathing, warm, 

Had gone the fires through all that lovely frame, 

That gave such vigor to the kindling flame 

Of thought, it might be genius, that so long 

Found faint expression in her girlish song. 

Kindling and glowing into life so new. 

So strong, so beautiful her spirit grew, 

So clinging to his own, and yet so free 

From weakness in its fond idolatry, 

That he had grown to love her with that love 

Man knows but once, nor ever soai-s above 

In all the flights his bold ambition dares. 

Nor yet can crush with life-long crowding cai-es 

Piled mountain high upon it : all between 

Life's granite cliff's will cling its tendrils green. 



58 SY BELLE. 

From fjune's bleak iiiiinacle it blushes down, 
The only rose twined in his laurel cro■u^^. 

Thus, Raimond, though that love thou sacrifice, 
Man-like, more free to grasp ambition's prize, 
Thus will its de.athlcss fragrance ever twine 
Through all thy future life ; and brightly thine 
Will glow amid the laurel's troubled gloom, 
In deeds born but of love's undying bloom. 
Aye, go and join your battling ranks again, 
Match your proud strength with' strength of giant 

men, 
Let other arms, long plighted, loved no more, 
Welcome you nightly when the strife is o'er, 
To gilded lialls where desolate you roam — 
Her gilded halls, your palace prison home. 
Seek with her gold yoiir woodland flower to hide. 
Crush, trample on it in your march of pride. 
Still fresh it springs beneath your iron tread, 
Acanthus-like — immortal from the dead! 

Is it her doom traced on his troubled brow 
Sj'belle is reading, gazing on him now, 
With those dark flashes in her tender eyes 
That change to purple black their azure dyes ? 
A strange o'ershadowing of jDrophetic wings 
Seems darkening through the very song she sings. 
Though firm and sweet and clear the music rings. 

"I sing for thee, love, a love song of the moniing. 
It wakened my soul from its night dream of bliss. 

Of thy lips on my eyes, love ; O was it a warning 
That tears should be there in the place of thy kiss? 



S Y B E L L E. 



59 



It springs from my heart as the wild bird is springing, 
'Mid dew drops and bloom from her own forest tree; 

I'll sing it aloud as the wild bird is singing, 
In morning's sweet twilight I sing it for thee. 

I sing it for thee ere the day god is sending 
His golden-tipped arrows of brightness afar, 

While yet o'er his couch the night-mother is bending, 
Her pale forehead gemmed with one beautiful star. 

Strange moment of doubt, when the worshipped ideal 
Seems purer and holier far than the true, 

When we gaze on the rising but shadowy real 

Through mystical light born of starbeanis and dew. 

O love, might we grasp the loved forms that are flying. 
The visions that fade with the twilight away ! — 

Alas, in the light that reveals them they're dying, 
As night ever dies by the cradle of day. 

Proud Night ! as she bends o'er the god at his waking, 

His arrows are lodged in her beautiful breast ; 
She sinks mid the splendor that round her is breaking, 
And the stars have gone down to watch over her rest. 

Farewell to thee, star-crowned and peerless Ideal, 
Farewell to the dreams that are buried with thee ! 

And welcome the strong-hearted, passionless Real 
That riseth in power as the night shadows flee. 

It comes to the world like the sunshine, revealing 
What ages of starlight could never have shown ; — 



60 SY BELLE. 

It comes to the heart by the lone grave of feeling, 
And sets its broad seal on the sepulchre stone. 

It comes to me now as the day beam is shining, 
But sealed in my heart must its prophecies be, 

For pale as yon stars in the twilight declining, 
Are fading the dreams I Avas dreaming of thee ! 

" Blow free and strong, O mnds of morn. 
Blow far all dreams of dai-kness born! 
Behold, on azure heights afar. 
Fair shines the morning's herald star ! 
In silence deep on plain and steep 
The shivering shadoAvs closer creep ; 
The twilight dies in purple skies, 
The white mist on her starry eyes ; 
And fair and frail above the vale 
The night-long wandering moon grows pale. 
Shine bright above, O star of love. 
The purer coming day to prove ! 
Blow strong for right, O winds of might, 
Blow wide the morning gates of light, 
Blow far all dreams and doubtful gleams 
Till perfect day above us beams ! " 

" Too soon it comes, Sybelle ; our dreams have 
grown 
So sweet, so dear amid these twilights lone, 
I could almost have wished no other bliss 
In life, or other world or heaven than this. 
Too soon — again those half-defiant flashes, 
Sybelle, burn darkly through your shadowy lashes. 



S Y B E L L E. Ql 

What mean they, love ? I saw them once before, 
Tliat sweet June night when by the rixer shore 
You prayed for life, and thought your lips could 

press 
Rich yvme even fi-oni its dregs of bitterness. 
They do ; and from theij" own excess return 
A richer wine w^here'er their kisses burn. 
Dear lips that give so much more than they take, 
Close be they pressed to mine for love's sweet sake. 
I thought to teach you life, and I have caught 
More from these lips than all the Avorld has taught. 
That sweet, sweet lesson let me learn again ; 
I thought I lived and you were dreaming then. 
But both were cold, both dreamed, both waked, and 

now 
I live in dreams and dream of life ; and thou 
Wilt never dream again, my own, my Ioa e ; 
God look in pity on us from above. 
Come closer ; poiir in mine those dear, dear eyes, 
Now warm with tender light of morning skies ; 
Forget that ever rising day may bring 
For thee one black plume on his golden wing ; 
Forget, dear love, that pain or grief or wrong. 
May jar one chord in all thy life of song; 
Forget that dreams like ours may end in pain ; 
Clasp me and say, I love thee, once again." 

"Say that I love thee ! must the joyous earth, 
In measured tones to the bright sun replying, 

Tell of the love that in her heart has birth 
Willie she beneath his radiant smile is lying? 

Is not each blossom eloquent with love ? 

Each budding germ on her warm bosom glowing, 



62 SYBELLE. 

All mutely breathes to the blue lieavens above 
Of love's sweet rapture through her being flowing. 

Thou knowest thy smile is sunlight on my heart ; 
Thou seest my cheek with love-warm blushes 
burning ; 

Thou knowest how tears into mine eyes Mall start 
For very joy, when thine are on them turning ; 

And dost thou ask me yet by words to prove 

How dear thy presence is, how true my love? 

Say that I love thee ! Yes, the vernal sun. 

Earth's glorious lover in his azure heaven, 
Ne'er blessed the world he deigns to smile upon 

With deeper joy than thou to me hast given. 
Not by fond words of flattering tenderness. 

By vows that lips have made and hearts have 
broken ; 
But by thy spirit's perfect power to bless 

Through words of life and love thy lips have spoken. 
Love thee ! O, love, life evermore to me 

Had been a cold, sad sense of being, lonely. 
And lost and weary, without love and thee, 

Life without life, a drear existence only ; 
Now warm with bliss that cannot change to pain, 
And light with light that grows not dark again. 

It is no sin to love, and tell thee so ; 

Ours is no passion born of youthful gladness, 
Flushing at once to summer's ferAdcl glow. 

Dying as soon by its own burning madness. 
Love found us with our senses all awake ; — 

Thine from their world life, mine from their life 
seeming, 



S Y B E L L E. (33 

It wove round us no brittle chains to break, 

Or wax-like melt beneath the clay's first beaming. 

O love, our love can no more die in us 

Than God's light from the sun in mid-day heaven 

Though I might see no more, nor clasp thee thus, 
Though all now mine to other arms were given. 

The life thou gavest me and the love I give, 

Immortal both, in each must ever live." 

To other arms ! Sybelle, canst thou divine 
Why shrinks thy lover from the clasp of thine ? 
Why at thy words, through nerve and pulse and 

brain. 
Shot the keen torture of some deadly pain ? 
Why the warm lips grow pale and cold as clay. 
And cheek and brow as white and chill as they V 
Why all the anguish of a life-long agony 
Seems gathered into that one glance for thee, 
As the wliite lips are on thy foreliead pressed. 
And thou one instant folded to his breast, 
Then left, thyself half chilled, and pale and numb. 
With the wild fears that o'er thy spirit come ! 
Aye ; fold those cold hands o'er and o'er again, 
Press them to your still heart and throbbing brain, 
Rally your startled senses as you may. 
Go out into the morning cold and gray ; 
The black, bare earth alone will meet you there, 
The damp, sad pressure of the autumn air, 
And heaven with all its stars and glor}- gone 
And low with lead-cold storm clouds overdrawn. 
Alone, alone ! Your pale face grows more pale, 
And down the leaf-strewn pathway to the vale 



64 S Y B E L L E. 

Yoiir stejis move strangely slow ; the very air 
Around seems heavy with the woe you bear. 
A dread you feel and yet you cannot name, 
Creeps slow, and dark and cold through all your 

frame 
And gathers round your heart. Where now the 

light 
And glow of love that made the morn so bright? 
Dark bend the clouds, and dark along its bed 
The stream, its sands with dead leaves overspread, 
Flows mournfully ; the leafless trees bend low 
In silent listening to your words of woe. 

"A cloud through which, alas, no eye can see, 
Is hiding all the heaven's sweet light from me. 
I knew, I felt its outline faint and dim, 
SloAV darkening up the flir horizon's rim. 
Yet shut my eyes and would not see it grow. 
And would not see the lightnings round me glow — 
The fierce, bright flashes, and the gloom that came 
More darkly after every blinding flame. 
I might have known — alas, too well I knew 
Such gloom and flame from happy love ne'er grew. 
What secret power these elements have nursed, 
Or when or how the fatal storm will burst 
It matters not. I know that it must come ; 
I felt it in those arms, those cold lips, dumb 
With sorrow that they dare not press on mine. 
() love, if gall be mingled in this wine, 
Both, both must taste its bitterest bitterness ; 
Both have so deeply quafied : nor thou the less, 
Nor I, long-thirsting lips have eagei- j-ressed, 



S Y B E L L E. 



Ql 



To di-aiu the bowl so brimming and so blest. 

My life, my love, my Raimond, thou hast given 

All my proud heart could ask for this side heaven ! 

My guide, my teacher ; to my darkened eyes 

Making earth bloom a glorious paradise. 

I drank in knowledge from thy lips as flowei's 

In thirsty gardens drink the summer showers 

And grow by them; and I grew up by thee 

So proud, so fearless and so trustingly. 

Molding my very being into thine 

Till my own nature seemed no more as mine, 

But strong, and high, and noble as thine own ; 

And thine so noble ! O love, I had grown 

Almost to worship ere I dared to love ; 

80 high thy own life aims — so fir above 

All my weak foncy dreamed. In very shame 

I blushed that I had even thought of fame 

Before thee. Blank and aimless until tlien 

All being seemed. It cannot be again. 

Teacher and pupil, each in each we grew 

And each from each a new existence drew. 

Love came to thee as knowledge unto me, 

Transforming life. How free, how gloriously 

Thy soul came forth in that new being's dawn ! 

Thy form such beauty and such strength put on. 

Such consciousness of joy in life as lives 

Alone where love's pure inspiration o-ivos 

To heart and soul and sense and being all 

They crave of bliss that fills bat cannot pall 

The senses. Tliine, love, thine and mine all this — 

Hearts, lips, and eyes, and arms, so filled with bliss 

Tbey never shall grow cold again. Mine own. 



(5(3 SYBELLE. 

My life, thou canst not leave me thus, alone ! 

Alas, not mine to drown these rising fears, 

The weakness and the blessedness of tears ! 

If honor bids thee go and me to stay, 

I must look in those eyes and trusting say : 

Go, love, though light go out of heaven with thee, 

Thou canst not take the light thou gavest me. 

Or if ambition lure thy spirit for, 

And love oi- I thine upward pathway bar, 

I could, as brave as thou, that love lay down, 

Nor dim by one weak tear thy victor crown. 

That is not love that victim-like would bind 

Love to its altar, fettered, shorn and blind. 

But O, not this, nor this ; my soul would go 

In widening circles farther from its woe ! 

A dark, dark thought I cannot speak for pain, 

Lies like a teiTor on my heart and brain. 

Love long confessed, and soul with soul as one, 

Why still in Avord and thought the future shun ? 

Why call such life as this a dream, and pray 

God's pity on us both, as if Avith day 

Some horror came to blacken all our bliss ? 

Why on the very breath that gave love'skiss 

Came warnings of dark plumes, and grief, and pain? 

Why all my earnest words of love in vain ? 

In vain ! alas, even as I sang there came 

A shivering chill like terror through that frame. . 

I watched it all with love's most jealous eyes, 

l^rom whitening lips to whiter forehead rise ; 

I felt it in the cold, strong energy 

Of fingers clasping mine unknowing why ; 

And that last glance of heart-Avrung hopelessness — 



S Y B E L L E. Q1 

Rainiond, ■\vere it mine tliy life to bless, 
And dying I could bless tliee, I would die 
Mather than see again that agony. 

1 think — and yet I will not — dare not — no ! 
Far from this brain thou maddening phantom, go. 
With thy proud eyes, and heart and arms as cold 
As are thy lands and piles of yellow gold ! 
What if thy proffered coins, were piled so high 
Ambition on them might mount to the sky? 
Two strong, true, loving hearts before them rise 
Yet higher, above, beyond those very skies. 

Must they be crushed, life stripped of all its charms, 
That he, a skeleton in your cold arms, 
May clink your gold, and call that wealth and fame 
That brands liis perjured soul with guilty shame ? 
Black, black the pictui'e grows! I see it there ; 
Down the pale shoulders streams the long black hair. 
Black all the garments, and the cheek's blank Avhite 
Gleams ghastly in the death-gift's yellow light — 
That heritage that binds him to thy doom 
And throws o'er me this shadow fi-om the tomb ; 
Black, soulless eyes, yet cruel, cold and vain, 
Their glance of triumph burns into my brain. 
It shot through his that same, same baleful glow. 
And it will part us yet ! Alas, I knoAV 
Too well his haughty spirit's power to berid 
His OAvn sti'ong will to gain the purposed end ; 
And well I know that firm, imshrinking soul, 
Would soar through flame to gain its wished-for goal; 
ISTor love nor I his onward course could bar 
More than the clouds the pathway of a star. 
Is this man's love ? O Raimond, is it thine ! 



(53 S Y B E L L E. 

Can gold or fame so far our love outshine, 
That thou, betraying all my holy trust, 
Canst bury all beneath that gilded dust; 
Canst call its dreary gleam thy being's light, 
And clieat thy heart of life's divinest right ? 
And I — I asked thee but for life, not this, 
O love, thou more than life, and more than bliss! 
To have the draught that I must drink or die 
So dashed with drops of blackest agony — 
Black ! all is black ! are not those mocking eyes 
Opening upon me from these darkened skies, 
Showino- the trees that gave their summer charms 
To autunui's gilding, blighting, blackening arms ? 
Proud trees! in vain your moanings through the air, 
You paid the price for all the woe you bear! 
Why stretch your arms in helpless wailing down 
To the poor stream who holds your summer crown 
Deep in her bosom, black and dead and cold i 
Poor little stream ! your sands of shining gold 
Are blackened too, by once bright golden leaves 
O'er whose dead forms your troubled bosom heaves 
In mournful murmurings, yet ever presses 
Closer and closer in its chill caresses, 
As I the summer hopes that floated down 
Into my being — love's most regal crown. 
Glowing and purple with the life drops wrung 
From the great heart that proudly o'er me hung. 
Showering its wealth upon me, as the trees 
Poured theirs on thee with every passing breeze ! 
O love, I rave ! Such wealth of love and liglit 
Could never die ! Are not the sands all bright 
And golden yet within thee, sighing stream. 



SYBELLE. 69 

As when the summer jjoured its ardent beam 
Into thy breast i The blessed rains will fall 
And wash away this dark, death-seeming jaall, 
And thou wilt bear along thy glittering sands 
Thy own sweet woodland song to other lands — 
A song so wayward, deep, and strange and wild, 
The world shall bend to hear the forest child, 
And wonder whence such music came. And thou, 
Forgetting half the gloom that shrouds thee now, 
Remembering all the splendor and the blaze 
Of light and bloom that crowned thy forest days. 
Wilt pour new joy upon the world ; thy song- 
Will bless all hearts, and make the faltering strong ! 
Love should make souls like pure, lite-gladdening 

streams. 
Not pools all blackened o'er with boding dreams, 
Silent, and dark, and dead, and poisoning all 
On whom their blighting exhalations fall. 

lost to me, yet ever loved as lost, 

1 can but bless the star whose rays have crossed 
My darkened path ! My Raimond, thou shalt know 
The life thou gavest will outlive the woe 

Of losing thee, though that go down to death. 
And claim the last sigh of my parting breath ! 
God bless thee, love ; and be His strength to thee 
As the great love of thy true heart to me. 
Ennobling all the future. We must part ; 
O bitter words to come from woman's heart! 
Yet bitterer far that life-long, dark remorse 
Wrung from man's soul o'er honor's blackened corse. 
No, Raimond ! if that call thee from my side 
And nlace within thine arms another bride, 



YO SYBELLE. 

Still go ! I trust tliy love as I trust heaven ; 
Not all in vain the lessons thou hast given." 



Strong hands long locked in fetters sweet 
Unclasping nevermore to meet ; 
Arms trembling with their last caress ; 
Pale lips that nevermore may press 
The lips their life went out on ; eyes 
All blank and wild, as if the skies 
Had lost the sun at noon, and night 
Dropped black upon a world of light ; 
Low, faltering words, the heart's faint knells ■ 
This is the sum of love's farewells ! 



The world has gained a bi-aver heart, 

A hand more bold and strong, 
A soul more firm to battle for 

The right against the wi'ong, 
Since from that woodland vale came forth 

The hero of my song ; 
Came forth, endowed with Avoman's love, 

A love he could not claim, 
For one who long in plighted faith 

Had waited for his name — 
Whose hand the golden ladder held 

Whereon he climbed to fame ; 
Came forth with such a blessing pressed 

On hand and lip and brow, 
As consecrate them all for truth 



SY BELLE. 71 

By love's most holy a'ow — 
A blessing hallowed through all time, 

And ever fresh as now. 
He cannot raise that hand for Avrong, 

Whate'er the guerdon be, 
Nor falsely sjjeak with lips that hers 

Have sealed in purity; 
He cannot hold within that brow 

A thought unworthy thee — 
Unworthy thee, beloved Sybelle; 

Beloved not all in vain, 
Since to the needy world he came 

A better man again, 
With iiiore of faith in womankind — 

Of man's success less vain ; 
A better man for having had 

His own heart depths to prove. 
To find though blinded passion soar 

All reason's guards above, 
It cannot touch with tainted breath 

A pure and perfect love ; 
A better man for all the bliss, 

Perhaps for all the woe. 
That maddening passion half withheld, 

Half given in tortures sloAV, 
Had mingled in the goblet rare 

Whose depths he might not know. 
O wondrous love ! not woman's cheek 

A i^aler hue could wear, 
Not woman's lip in agony 

Could frame so v.'ild a prayer. 



72 S Y B £ L L E . 

As wrung his soul with anguish in 

That parting of despair ! 
O wondrous love, that steadfast still 

In lier blue eyes could burn, 
Bent over his, as sorrow bends 

Above a burial urn. 
Then half-despairing, turns, alone, 

Life's fearful task to learn ! 
Alone, back to the needy world - 

A pui-er man he came, 
With holier motives to redeem 

The pledge he gave to fame — 
Among the noblest of the land 

To write the noblest name. 
Alone, she wanders in the vale, 

Alone beside the stream, 
Half-wondering if the memories 

That all so real seem, 
Are not her wild imaginings 

In some bewildering dream. 
She holds one hand upon her heart 

To still its throbbing pain, 
And one upon her brow to cool 

Tliat almost frenzied brain, 
And murmurs with those lips so pale — 

"'Twere sweet to dreana again." 
But he had said that nevermore 

To her a dream would come ; 
And must the brain that once could think. 

Grow by its waking numb ? 
And must the lips that once could sing, 

Forevermore be dumb ? 



SYBELLE. 73 

No ; she would sing the songs she wove 

From fancies long ago, 
When by her own loved sti'eani she lay, 

To watch its quiet flow, 
And crushed the roses in her hands, 

And only dreamed of woe. 

" All the day long, 
With a ceaseless song 
And the whole night through, 
Down its path of blue, 
A cascade falls over rocky walls, 
In a far ofi" wood where the giant trees 
Wrestle with storms or the passing breeze. 
Where never a banner has floated high. 
Or a glittering spire looked up to the sky. 
Where the sunlight softly flickers doAvn 
Through the summers green and the autumns brown. 
And the cold bright light of the winter night, 
And the tender sheen of the springtime green, 
In changeful beauty glow and foil 
Where the cascade sings o'er its rocky wall. 

" But skies and trees, 

And the changeful breeze 

Like the rocks are chill, 

As the cascade still 
Pours the full tide of her passionate song. 
Whether, of happiness, grief, or wrong. 
Into her own cold breast of stone ; 
And the murmurs low, and the saddening moan. 



74 SYBELLE. 

That echo back from that dark abyss 

The cry of the spirit's loneliness, 

Are measured over with weary pain, 

And poured on her rocky heart again, 

While a misty cloud, like a cold white shroud, 

Is gathered close o'ev her troubled Abreast, 

To hide the passions that will not rest. 

" A cascade lone, 

With its wall of stone, 

Is the ce'aseless strife 

Of my hidden life, 
And coldly the stream of my being falls 
Over life's chilled and flinty walls, 
And the moan of my spirit's loneliness 
Comes ever up from the dark abyss; 
I press it down with a cry of pain, 
But it springs to my sealdd lips again, 
And again is dashed to the heart below 
Where the wild and passionate waters flow, 
And I di-aw a cloud, like a cold white shroud. 
Between the world and my weary breast. 
And long for a night of eternal rest." 

"Wild November winds are sighing. 

Mournful, wailing winds of woe, 
Sad the darkened stream replying 

Murmurs through the valley low ; 
Mourning over all the splendor 

Lost amid that autumn gloom, 
Mourning for the blossoms tender 

Dead on autumn's icv tomb. 



S Y B E L L E. 

Pale they saw the rose leaves fiiUing 
Drenched with sorrow's chilling rain. 

Faint they heard the willow calling 
For her summer love in vain. 

"See they not the rose-heart glowing, 

Ruby-like amid the frost, 
Life more strong within her erowino- 

Than in all the petals lost? 
See they not the willoAv keepino- 

Loving watch the stream above, 
All her frame, for all her weeping, 

Golden Avith her summer love? 
Winds of autumn cease your sighino-, 

Cease your murmuring mournful river, 
Truth and beauty are not dying, 

Love in them shall live forever." 

O there be flowers all fiir and frail 
That shrink not from the autumn o-ale, 
Full of the blissful summer past 
They smile amid the wintry blast, 
And smiling die, as if still dreaming 
j Of love's warm sunlight o'er them beaming; 
No faded leaves are foiling low, 
N'o blight lies on their summer glow. 
All fragrant breaks their parting breath 
In love's sweet triumph over death. 
And tlnis, with trust undimmed by tears, 
Sybelle waits through the passing years. 
Till long that Avell beloved name 
Has graced the honored lists of fame. 



75 



76 SY BELLE. 

Unscathed through trial's fieriest hour, 
Untainted by temptation's power, 
Worthy of all her worship past, 
And all her love, she sees at last, 
A nation's grateful homage done 
To him, her purest, proudest one. 
Once more she stands the stream beside, 
At twilight hour, in maiden pride, 
With all that tender bloom that speaks 
Of tender memories on her cheeks. 
And that dark purple flame that lies ' 
So constant now witliin her ey-es. 
More darkly glowing, wliile her song 
Floats calm and clear the vale along : 

"Life is a welcome gift to those who stand 
Strong-armed and free in youth's bright morning 

land. 
When the dark clouds of error's night are gone, 
With fainter mists that dimmed the rising dawn, 
And fair o'er all, the sun's unclouded ray. 
Pours the warm light of trutli's eternal day. 

" A welcome gift to me, O life, art thou, 
Crowning all nature and my being now 
With thy most perfect fulness. All I sought. 
Or craved, or dreamed of in my wildest thought, 
Tliou givest — light and love and truth, and power 
Through them to ask for fame — ambition's dower. 

"It were enough to live but once to say, 

I love ! biit once in all life's pilgrim way 

Tliat Mecca shrine to touch ; but once to know 

How bright in human liearts love's flame may glow. 



SY BELLE. 77 

Once and forever— here, O Love, thy bliss, 
That what hath been but once, forever is! 

" Forever thus with thee, my guiding star, 
Whose i-ays fall on and bless me from afar, 
Undimmed it glows ; and purer that the years 
Watching thy course to higher, nobler spheres. 
Witness no faltering, no eclipses there. 
To dim the promise of thy dawning tair. 

" I were unworthy of thy love and trust. 

Unworthy of myself, if in the dust 

I could bow down with weak and wailing cries, 

Making that life a sinful sacrifice 

That heaven and thou have blessed with light and 

truth. 
So craved and prayed for in my darkened youth. 

'" Love is the dawn of truth unto the soul — 

Life's morn, and noon, and night — its perfect whole I 

I knew thy daAvn, thy glorious noon, O Love, 

And through thy night by starry memories prove 

That thou art life ! To thy undying flame, 

I wake in hope my song for name and fixme!" 



ADELAIDE 



ADELAIDE. 



PART I. 



Beloved and bright, though to the world unknown 
As the small spring that from the hillside breaks, 
Glad in the music of its childish tone, 

And in the life its purity awakes, 
Now joyous in the April sunlight dancing, 
Now on the stars, now. on the blossoms glancing, 
Such was the childhood of a gentle maid, 
Such were the infant years of Adelaide. 

Blest childhood ! with thy smiles and artless mirth 

Thou crownest life's dark years with hope and joy ; 
Thou diamond pure in this dark mine of earth 
Where scarce a gem is free from sin's alloy ! 
Bright as the ray that shines from heaven upon thee 
Ere earthly pleasure to her arms hath won thee, 
Such be thy life, thou angel just from heaven, 
Thou cherub to a mortal's guidance given ! 

Fair as the opening rose at dewy morn 

That bloomed in beauty by her cottage doo r, 
4* 



82 ADELAIDE. 

So fair was Adelaide ; and she was born, 

When radiant June its greenest foliage wore ; 
When leaves on leaves among the vines Avere wreath- 
ing, 
And summer flowers their richest fragrance breathing, 
With perfume filled the rustic cot that stood 
Like a lone hermit in the sheltering wood. 

Alone it stood ; yet in its loneliness 

A refuge was it for three loving hearts ; 
To tliem a shield from sorrow and distress, 
Far from capricious fortune's luring arts. 
There lived they to the distant world as strangers, 
There shared they each the otlier's toils and dan- 
gers, — 
The high-souled Ellis, Maiy his young bride, 
And Ruth, his sister dear, in friendship tried. 

His fortune lost by trust too oft betrayed, 

By bitter wrongs his high ambition checked. 
Here found he in the tranquil forest shade 

A joy that prosperous fortune oft has wrecked — 
The joy of life ; the gladness too of knowing 
What love for him in other hearts Avas glowing. 
The joy of life! now Avould he scorn to claim 
That glittering toy, the tinsel wreath of ftime. 

Each day the love that solitude endears 
He saw in Mary's rapture-beaming smile. 

And Ruth, though yet almost a child in years. 
Seemed like an angel destined to beguile 

From his proud heart each vain and wild emotion, 

And soothe his spirit by her true devotion ; 



ADELAIDE.' 83 

But ]iow, a purer, holier joy tlmii tliis, 
Was Adelaide, the crown of all tlieir bliss. 

Thrice hallowed, loved and helpless infancy ! 

Blessed in thy helplessness, thy strong defence ; 
Blessed in the tenderness that springs for thee, 

Blessed in thy beauty and thine innocence ! 
How wert thou welcomed, of all joys the dearest, 
Tliou light that still the humblest cottage cheerest ; 
For thee burned Avoman's love with purer flame, 
And man forgot ambition, 'wealth and fame. 

Yes ; all ambition but the wish to bless; 

All fame but that which heaven itself ordained — « 
The heart's own praise ; all we:dtli but happiness. 

And the dear treasures his own cot contained. 
What festal light o'er scenes of sj^lendor streaming. 
What dazzling gems on brows of beauty beaming. 
Could match the sunlight breaking o'er her rest 
AYho slept with that sweet babe iipon her breast? 

Through wreathing vines and forest branches green 
The rosy beams of summer morning smiled. 

How brightly fell they on that cottage scene — 
The youthful mother and her first-born child ! 

How fair that cheek the snoAvy pillow pressing, 

How soft those arms her infont's form caressing; 

The father's heart throbbed with sweet hopes and 
fears, 

And Ruth's dark eyes were filled with happy tears. 

Affection true and holiest love wei'e there. 
It sealed their lips as with a mystic charm ; 



84 ADELAIDE. 

O few and brief such raptured moments are 

When words would fill the bosom with alarm ; 
When silent bliss from heart to heart is stealing, 
And cheeks and eyes such speechless love revealing. 
Tears, tears will flow, for nature claims them then, 
From woman's eyes and from the hearts of men. 

And they were blessed, for not more lovely grew 

The fairest bud on summer's blooming brow. 
By sunshine warmed and nursed with ft-agrant dew, 

Than Adelaide, their bud of promise now. 
Life's opening rose in artless beauty smiling. 
Their light of life, now all their griefs beguiling ; 
She was their joy when daily toils were done, 
She was their starlight and their morning sun. 

Soon fled those brief and blissful summer hours. 

And faster sjoed the autumn months away ; 
Stern winter passed, and spring's reviving showers 

Fell on the tender leaves and blossoms gay. 
Again the summer sunshine trembled lightly, 
Where through the leaves the streamlet glistened 

brightly; 
Sweet June, the first of summer's dazzling train. 
Came back to earth with all her charms again. 

O radiant June, thou month of bloom and balm, 
Thrice welcome art thou to our northern clime ! 

What deep repose pervades the forest calm 

When spring's perfection joins with summer's 



jorime 



Morn breaks upon a world of deAvy splendor. 
And night falls gently o'er tlie twilight tender. 



ADELAIDE. 85 

Soft zephyrs fan the languid brow of noon, 
And beauty sleeps amid the woods of June. 

Thus in still beauty by the placid stream 

The oak, the willow and the aspen stood ; 
The rich wheat ripened in the golden beam, 

While, like a strongly banded brotherhood. 
Line after line in emerald armor shining, 
With lance and streamer to the earth inclining, 
Stood the green corn ; yet all invisibly 
'Twas rising upward, vipward toward the sky. 

Oft sheltered fi'om the noontide's ardent ray 

Would Ellis thankful o'er the landscape gaze ; 
Along the verdant sloj^es spread far away 

Stretched the soft outline of the summer haze. 
There the bright river in the distance fading. 
Here the tall oaks his lowly cottage shading, 
And those rich fields, by his own toil subdued, 
All cheered and strengthened him in solitude. 

' Twas thus with Mary's fair hand clasj^ed in his, 
He stood beneath the oak's embowering shade. 

The smiles that spring from conscious happiness, 
And mutual love, ujjou their features played. 

When music, clear as from the deep sky falling. 

Came to their hearts, their own bright youth re- 
calling, 

'Twas Ruth's sweet voice that through the green- 
wood rung 

While thus to Adelaide she playful sung: 



86 ADELAIDE. 

Child of the dark eyes 
And beautiful brow, 

Bud of the wilderness, 
Why bloomest thou ? 

For joy in thy sorrow, 
For light in thy gloom. 

For life and for beauty. 
Thus do I bloom. 

Life is a moment, 
And joy ends in fear, 

Bud of the wilderness, 
Why art thou here ? 

Emblem of Heaven 
Its truth and its love, 

I show thee the beauty 
Of angels above. 

Blest be thy beauty. 

And hallowed thy birth, 

Bud of the wilderness, 
Welcome to earth ! 



ADELAIDE 



PART II. 

How swiftly pass the bright meridian hours 

That measure manhood's years of ardent prime, 
How few at noon will stoop to note the flowers 

That charmed them in the balmy morning time. 
Still in the shade the blossom blooms as sweetly, 
Matures and strengthens as the years pass fleetly, 
And when the proud, one droops in weariness. 
Its love shall cheer him and its beauty bless. 

Thus bloomed the gentle Adelaide ; while years 

Brought added cares to Ellis' thoughtful brow, 
And Mary watched with love's prophetic fears 
On Ruth's fair cheek the hectic beauty glow. 
Nor watched alone ; for other eyes were reading 
That fatal page ; another heart was pleading 
That heaven in pity might avert the doom 
And save its idol from an eai-ly tomb. 

The young, proud Edmond, who for her sweet love 
Forsook the world, forgot his hopes of fame. 



88 ADELAIDE. 

Nor knew nor cared to know a joy above 

Her humbler lot ; and oh to hear his name 
From such pure lips, to see her dark eyes beaming 
With love so true, so angel-like in seeming, 
Was more than life to him — 'twas his life's light, 
Without whose presence all Avas death and night. 

O it is beautiful, yet sad, to see 

How man's proud strength in gentleness can bend, 
How it can cling with fond idolatry 

To woman's form, and with her being blend 
Its life-long hopes ; how, on her love relying. 
He braves all dangers ; but when she is dying. 
He powerless fills, or, like the blighted oak, 
Defies the storm and dares the lightning's stroke. 

So Edmond fell, when from his clasping anus 

His p]"omised bride, his gentle Ruth was torn ; 
So Ellis stood, when o'er her pallid charms 

He saw in grief his sti'icken Mary mourn. 
From the sweet dream of love and hope awaking, 
The lover raved, his weary heart was breaking ; 
While the calm brother, pale and tearless by, 
Checked his own grief to soothe his Mary's sigh. 

And Adelaide, the gentle, loving one, 

The watchful angel of the household band, 
Forever present with her cheerful tone, 

Her words of love, her ministering hand. 
How did she with strong purpose check the gushing 
Of tears that ever to her eyes were rushing. 
How did she strive with woman's tenderness 
The maniac lover's hapless lot to bless. 



ADELAIDE. gg 

Death changes not the dying only ; no 

The living too are molded by his power, 
As doth the fruit in full perfection grow 

Above the dust where sleeps the withered flower. 
So in the maiden's heart new strength was springing, 
New thoughts were there, a holier purpose bringing, 
At once from her the bloom of life was gone. 
At once the destiny of woman won. 

She felt what hearts like hers but once can feel — 
That she had loved ! With what a mad'ning pain 

Did that dread truth upon her spirit steal ! 
How did she strive to banish it in vain ! 

With every thought of girlhood's hours of gladness 

Was linked his name ; and though it now Avere mad- 
ness, 

Though hope was dead, and reason's sun was set, 

True to her destiny she loved him yet. 

But oh, with such a chastened, fearful love 

As seldom girlhood's guileless heart has known; 
She would not wrong the sainted one above, 
To wish one thought, one smile, one tone. 
Of all the blissful past to her were given. 
Or could be hers ; not for her hopes of heaven 
Would she to mortal eyes the love unveil. 
That jjreyed upon her heart, that made her young 
cheek pale. 

It was enough that through the weary years 
His blighted spirit might be doomed to live, 

Her voice could cheer, her presence calm his fears, 
Or to his life one gleam of pleasure give. 



90 ADELAIDE. 

It was enough amid that night of sorrow, 
One ray of hght, one trembling hope to borrow 
From his sad smile, when wandering by her side, 
He talked of Ruth, and called her his lost bride. 

He told her that when years of grief were spent, 

And he had wandered many a weary way. 
When his lithe form with feeble age was bent, 

And his dark locks were sprinkled o'er with gray, 
Then should he find her, just as she had vanished. 
When light and beauty from his life were banished ; 
And she Avho loved him with such holy truth 
Could bring him back to beauty, strength and youth. 

He was a gentle maniac, and his eye 

Had more of sadness than of reason lost ; 
As if the star that lights the morning sky 

By dark'ning clouds and sudden storms wei'e cross- 
ed. 
Still shines the star, and though so dimly beaming. 
One Avatchful eye still marks its fitful gleaming. 
One heart yet hopes, when storms have passed away, 
Its light shall dawn upon a haj^pier day. 

That happier day ! When shall its dawning be ! 

Alas, the clouds ai'e threatening deejier gloom ; 
And Adelaide, thy star of destiny 

In dark eclipse seems hovering o'er the tomb. 
By the low couch, in prayerful sorrow bending, 
Despair and hope are in thy bosom blending; 
Hojje for the spirit feebly struggling there, 
Hope for the mind, but for the life despair ! 



ADELAIDE. Ql 

O patient watcher, tliy fair brow is pale, 

Thy native rose blooms on thy cheek no more. 
A year has passed, and now the autumn gale 

Sweeps with sad Avail the cheerless landscape o'er 
All nature dies, and lo, before thee lying-, 
The one thou lovest all too well seems dying. 
No cloud of mental gloom, no madness noAv, 
Dims his clear eye or darkens his pale brow. 

And he is looking up to thee ; his hand 

Clasps thine ; he faintly murmurs, " Adelaide.'^ 

Dear is that voice to thee as breezes bland 
Unto thy emblem rose of June, sweet maid! 

Bend low ; the rose bends when the breeze is singing . 

Bend low; the rose bloom to thy cheek is sprino-ino-' 

O child of hope ! thy fervent prayer is heard ; 

'Tis answered by that softly murmured word: 

Another June with its blue, cloudless skies. 

Its shadowy forests and its world of bloom, 
Its sparkling stream that now in sunshine lies. 

And now is lost amid the greenwood gloom — 
Another June, and Edmond's cheek is glowing 
With health's warm hue ; through azure channels 

flowing, 
The rich blood tints the lately pallid brow. 
So dark with sorrow once — the throne of reason now. 

And there is music by the stream once more — 
A sound of song upon the breezes flung ; 

Not the soft notes of Ruth's sweet voice of yore 
When to the infant Adelaide she sung: 



92 ADELAIDE. 

But manlier tones with deeper cadence thrilling, 
And the fair listener's eyes with radiance filling. 
Tis Edmond sings, and Adelaide is near, 
Nor lists she now with thoughtless childhood's ear. 

Tlie ocean wanderer loves the star 

That guides him to his home ; 
Though oft he views the meteor lights 
Or on the billow's crested heights 

Admires the sparkling foam. 
He heeds them not, but turns away, 
And heavenward looks so wearily, 
To where the only light he loves 
Beams o'er his path so cheerily. 

The traveler 'mid the desert sands 
The green oasis sees, 
And what though gems from every mine 
In tempting radiance round him shine. 
More dear to him the breeze 
That mai'ks the fluttering palm tree nigh, 

Beneath whose shade untiringly 
The fountain springs, and warbling birds 
Sing to his heart inspiringly. 

A wanderer I on life's dark sea, 
A traveler 'mid its sands ; 
The star I loved has set in gloom. 
And where I saw the oasis bloom 
A mocking mirage stands. 
I cannot love that dai-kened sky. 
The desert winds blow chillingly, 



ADELAIDE. 93 

And life bereft of love might turn 
And welcome death most willingly. 

Yet from that dreary ruined jiiast, 
My Adelaide, to thee, 
To thee, beloved from early years. 
To thee, whose smile my spirit cheers, 
I turn for sympathy. 
No wealth or 2:)ower I offer thee, 

To tempt thy heart beguilingly; 
I only ask that for my love 

Thou'lt look upon me smilingly. 

I cannot say that sad regrets 

Will never cloud my brow, 
But while thy voice can charm my ear. 
And while thy loving eyes are near 
To smile on me as now, 
How can I choose but bless the day. 

When wildly and despairingly, 

I looked on death, and, but for thee. 

Had left the world uncaringly? 

For thou hast won me back to life. 
To life, to love and thee ; 
My Adelaide, beloved and blest, 
To thee the wanderer turns for rest, 
For love and constancy. 
No fame or rank I offer thee 

To tempt thy heart beguilingly, 
I only ask that for my love 

Thou'lt look upon me smilingly. 



94 ADELAIDE. 

Her eyes are raised, their light has met his own ; 

To him their tearful lustre far outspeaks 
The loved and gentle music of her tone, 

Or the deep tints that stain her glowing cheeks. 
It is enough, the blush and tear are telling 
All the fond hopes within her bosom swelling ; 
Enough — her long-tried love is well repaid, 
The tale is told ; farewell sweet Adelaide. 



MARGUERITE. 



You wonder why I sing no more, 

But coldly at your feet 
Stand gazing up into your eyes, 
With something like a strange surprise, 
And make no flattering, sweet replies, 

When you are speaking. Marguerite. 

You love my simple rhymes, you say. 

And urge me to repeat 
The boyish tale I used to tell, 
When wandering in the hazel dell. 
Where soft the summer twilight fell, 

When we were children, Marguerite. 

Alas, Ave are not children now. 

And trust me, 'tis not meet 
That I, an humble country swain, 
By rustic rhymes should hope to gain 
What nobler bards have sought in vain — - 

One grateful smile from Marguerite. 

I've watched you when their tender strains. 
With flatteiy's incense sweet, 



96 



]M A R G U E R I T E . 



Miglit well have brought each latent grace 
That in a maiden's soul hath place, 
To smiles and blushes on her face, 

You did not hear them, Marguerite. 

Your brow was like the marble cold, 
And when they turned to meet 

The guerdon of your gentle smile, 

You seemed as lost as if the while 

In some far oif enchanted isle 

You had been dreaming. Marguerite. 

When such have foiled, what hope have I, 

The lowliest at your feet. 
To win one glance from your dark eye. 
To wake within your breast one sigh. 
Or on your lips one kind reply 

To itiy poor song, proud Marguerite ? 

You are no more the joyous child 

Who in life's spring-time sweet, 
Could roam delighted by my side. 
With no high dreams of wealth and pride. 
Or such proud scorn as can divide 

The loved and loving, Marguerite. 

But calm beyond the charati^d line 
Where child and woman meet, 

With pride enough on lip and brow 

To make a king in homage bow. 

In all your glorious beauty now, 
I see you standing, Marguerit« 



MARGUERITE. 97 

I would not from your worshiped eyes 

The cold indifference meet, 
That chills the fire on passion's tongue, 
Checks lovers' songs ere they be sung, 
And sends your devotees heart-wrung 

From your proud presence, Marguerite. 

I hide within my heart of hearts 

That dream so pure and sweet. 
The boyish love of life's young morn 
Shall never meet your cruel scorn, 
It dies as silent as 'twas born, — 

Why are you weejiing, Marguerite ? 

Can tears wash out the cold disdain 

With which you loved to greet 
The i)leading eyes to yours upturned ? 
And has your haughty spirit learned 
How deep their fires of passion burned 

By your own tortures, Mai-guerite ? 

blessed tears! my boyhood's dream! 

In maiden beauty sweet, 
Down from your cold and distant throne, 
With love long kept for me alone, 
Into my arms, my own, my own ! 

Those tears have brought you, Marguerite ! 
6 



LILLIAN GRAY 



By yon low grave Avhere Lillian sleeps, 
And where the drooping willow weeps, 

The wild birds love to stay ; 
They meet around her in the night, 
They sing of her at morning light, 

Iv^hear them all the day ; 
But O it seems a weary song 
To hear them singing all day long, 

We mourn for Lillian Gray. 

Within that grave my Lillian sleeps, 
Above her head the willow weeps, 

She has no sculptured stone ; 
But day by day an artist old. 
Is graving with his fingers cold, 

My heart, to marble grown ; 
And all the name he traces there 
From dewy morn to evening fair, 

Is, Lillian Gray, alone. 



LILLIAN GRAY. 

Benoatli the tree that o'er lier weeps 
I'll lay me where my Lillian slee])s, 

To guard her while I may ; 
For sterner seemed that form of fear 
That traced the name of Lillian dear 

Upon my heart to-day. 
I'm dying, and the wild birds sing 
Above the moni;ment I bring, 

To thee, my Lillian Gray. 



99 



AMY DEAN. 



With lingering steps day after day 
I've passed your cottage garden gay ; 
I've watched the blossoms of your care 
So sweetly nursed and tended there, 
Your roses in their summer glow, 
Your lily bells like perfumed snow. 
Your poppies flaunting in their pride 
The daisy's modest bloom beside, 
Tlie violets in their green retreat, 
Sweetwilliams gay, and pinks more sweet, 
Yet ne'er a lovelier blossom seen 
Then your own self, sweet Amy Dean. 

Beside your cheek the roses fade, 
The saintly lilies droop in shade, 
"When near them yoiir white brow is bent 
So pure in its serene content ; 
The pinks where late the wild bee sips 
Have no carnation like your lips, 
They bend before such rivals sweet, 
And pour their fragrance round your feet. 



AMY DEAN. ^Qi 

The violets with their eyes of blue 
Look up most sister-like to yovi, 
Yet bolder in their coverts green 
Than your OTvn self, sweet Amy Dean. 

Prim in their Puritanic ways 
The worshiping sweetwilliams gaze, 
"With all your bloom, but not your grace. 
Up to the heaven of your face. 
The poppies bow their heads of pride 
To touch your garments as you glide 
So lightly down the garden aisles 
To meet the daisies' morning smiles. 
All flushed with pleasure, like that flower, 
I've watched your coming many a hour, 
And, trembling, wished my lips had been 
The leaves you kissed, sweet Amy Dean. 

You gave me once, with timid grace. 
And blushes mantling o'er your face, 
A rose bud pale ; I begged the gem 
For it had touched your garment's hem ; 
I thought it then a Croesus' store ; 
ISTow, miser-like, I ask for more. 
Not for your daisies gemmed with dew, 
Your lily bells, or violets blue, 
Sweetwilliams prim, or poppies gay. 
Or pei-fumed pinks that crowd your way ; 
I ask but one, the garden's queen, — 
Rose of my life, sweet Amy Dean ! 



MY MARY. 



How softly steal the twilight shades 

Along the pale September sky; 
How purely bright the diamond dews 

Among the clover blossoms lie. 
At this sweet hour when toils are o'er, 

And homeward hies the weary bee, 
I know beside my cottage door, 

My bride, my Mary waits for me. 

The clover bloom is on her cheek, 

And in her eye the diamond dew, 
And ne'er in virgin bosom beat 

A heart more loving pure and true. 
She thinks her hunter strangely late 

As shadoAvs lengthen o'er the lea ; 
And now beside my cottage gate, 

My gentle Mary waits for me. 

The bloom is fading from her cheek ; 

Her eyes are dim with starting tears ; 
When lo, adown the forest path. 

My Rovei-'s welcome voice she hears. 



MY MARY. 103 

She strives to pierce the gloom in vain, 
For darkness deepens round each tree ; 

And now along the shadowy lane, 
My trembling Mary flies to me. 

My Mary ! 'tis not fear that gives 
Such fleetness to her steps to-night. 

That makes her press so close to mine 
Those balmy lips and eyes of light ! 

My cottage by the wood no more 
My happy cottage home would be, 

If at the lane, the gate, the door. 
My Mary might not wait for me ! 



JENNY. 



Of all the farmers' girls I know, 

And they, to say the truth, are many ; 

There's scarce among them one, I trow. 
In all things can compare with Jenny. 

Jenny with the laughing eyes. 

And her darkly braided tresses ; 
Jenny with her fairy form, 

And her dainty foot that presses 
Lightly as the leaves that fall 

On the grass from boughs above her ; 
Would that you my Jenny saw, 

For you could not choose but love her. 

She can spin and knit and sew, 

With those fingers fair and slender; 
She can mould the whitest loaves. 

And bake them brown and tender. 
And the cows at morn and eve 

For her coming look with pleasure, 
Yielding to her skillful hand 

Richest milk in flowing measure. 



JENNY. 105 

At her call the lambkins run 

Down the clover paths to meet her; 

For her care the garden blossoms 

Send then- sweet perfumes to greet her. 

Never over her dear face 

Discontent its gloom is flinging ; 
And she sings as honey bees 

At their own sweet work are singing. 
In that little head she bears 

Such a wondrous stock of knowledge, 
That were I to tell you half, 

You would think she'd been to college ! 
But if I should sing a month, 

Praising her above the many, 
You would never be content 

Until you had seen my Jenny. 

There may be scores of city girls 

Can boast of fairer faces. 
And forms more shaped to fashion's mold, 

Tricked out in silks and laces. 
And useless fingers lily fiir 

With gilded trifles playing, 
And rosy lips, and languid eyes, 

May tempt young hearts a-straying ; 
But if from these you turn aside, 

A Aviser man than many. 
And seek a woman for your bride. 

Perhaps you'll find my Jenny, 



JOSEPHINE. 



How like a blossom fair and frail, 

Is she I love, my bosom's queen ; 
My fragile lily of the vale. 

My gentle Josephine. 
So fair, so pure, so frail she seems 

I dare not half my passion own, 
Lest, like the angel of my dreams, 

I wake to find her flown. 

I've seen the tender flower of spring 

With such i;nconscious blushes dyed. 
When low the amorous breeze would sing 

What I to speak have tried. 
I've watched it still as flushed and pale 

It trembled to the breeze's sigh. 
Then drooped, while listening to the tale, 

In virgin bloom to die! 

And thus I fear my ruder love 

Would crush the blossom I would bless, 
I dare not ask the one sweet word 

To seal my happiness ; 



JOSEPHINE. 107 



So like a, blossom fair and frail, 
Is she I love, my bosom's queen. 

My fragile lily of the vale, 
Mv gentle Josephine. 



LITTLE ALICE. 



Blow soft, ye gentle summer winds, 

Round the dear liome where Alice dwells 
Waft to her songs of happy birds. 

And odors from sweet lily bells. 
Fan the pale roses on her cheeks 

To rosier bloom each coming day. 
Kiss her young lips and forehead foir. 

And through her clustering ringlets play. 

She is the one sweet bud of hope 

To bloom upon the household tree. 
Deal gently with her, winds of heaven. 

Unfold the blossom tenderly. 
May no rude storm or fatal blight 

Reach the dear home where Alice dwells, 
Amid the songs of happy birds, 

And fragrance from the lily bells. 



ESTELLE. 



How motionless, how pale she stands, 
A statue cold with icy hands 
Clasped tightly o'er a breast of snow; 
And but that oft her dark eyes glow 
With the strange fire that fills them now, 
And wreathes with living light her brow, 
She might be what at times she seems — 
A thing to haunt your midnight dreams, 
An iceberg worn by wind and storm 
Till moulded to a woman's form, 
Then left, a monument of rest. 
On some lone isle in ocean's breast. 

But words are on her parting lips ; 
Her soul seems waking from eclipse : 
For name and fame ! The words are said, 
And the deep thoughts 'unto them wed. 
Are burning in her eye's dark flame, 
And on her brow — for name and fame ! 

Back to her cheek with quivering start 
The life blood rushes from her heart — 



110 ESTELLE. 

So cold, so beautiful, it glows 

Like sunlight on the polax- snows. 

That blush becomes thee passing well, 

O gifted, proud, and cold Estelle! 

Yet those who know what passion wrings 

The heart from whence such beauty springs. 

May well the glorious boon forego, 

And lose its charm to shun its Avoe. 

Thy pallid lips so closely pressed, 

Thy still hands folded o'er thy breast, 

Thine eye unblessed by feeling's tear. 

Thy brow so cold, so calm and clear. 

Show that no thoughts of pleasure came 

With those wild words, for name and fame ! 

"What hope is thine of earthly joy 
That time can blight or death destroy? 
For thou hast bowed in dust to mourn 
The idol from thy bosom torn ; 
The cheerless grave has closed above 
JEach object of thine earthly love. 
Behind, each path that promised bloom 
Ilath led thee by an open tomb ; 
Life's troubled ocean sjireads before, 
And thou upon its lonely shore 
Ilast listened to its moans so long 
Thy lips would echo back its song ! 

Now Fame her brightest wreath may twine 
Around that marble brow of thine. 
And worshipers on bended knee 
Their flattering homage pay to thee; 



ESTELLE. Ill 

But laurel crowns could never press 

A brow more cold and passionless, 

JSTor shrined idol calmer stand 

Amid her kneeling, votive band, 

No word of praise, nor j^assion glance, 

Can wake thee from that statue-trance ; 

And but the waves that round thee moan 

In echo to thy answering tone, 

Can quench in death thine eyes' dark flame, 

And still thy song for name and fame. 



ROSE OF EVANDALE. 



O Rose, foil- Rose, my blooming Rose, 
My own sweet Rose of Evandale ! 

What care I for the lotus bloom, ^ 

Or for the violet's sweet perfume. 
What care I for the lily pale, 

While I can feast my ravished sight 

On tliy dear cheek with blushes bright. 

My peerless Rose, my blooming Rose, 
My own sweet Rose of Evandale ! 

The walls that guard my chosen flower 

Are mountains capped with snow-clouds pale. 
And many a winding streamlet glides 
In beauty down their verdant sides, 

To meet and mingle in the vale. 
Where dwells one ever-blooming spring, 
And birds in charmed numbers sing 

To thee, fair Rose, my blooming Rose ; 

My own sweet Rose of Evandale. 

A boAver is by the stream that winds. 
In ceaseless music through the vale, 



ROS E OF EVANDALE. ^g 

And thronging there, of every hue, 

In wreathing garlands pearled with dew, 

A thousand blossoms scent the gale ; 
But brightest of them all is she. 
The peerless Rose that blooms for me, 

My heart's sweet Rose, my blooming Rose, 

Mv own dear Rose of Evandale. 



KITTY'S CHOICE. 



A wealthy old farmer was Absalom Lee, 

He had but one daughter, the mischievous Kitty 
So fair and so good and so gentle was she, 

That lovers came wooing from country and city. 
The first and the boldest to ask for her hand 

Was a trimly dressed dandy who worshiped her — 
"tin;" 
She replied with a smile he could well understand, 

" That she'd tnarfy no Ajye for the sal;e of his 
skin ! " 

The next was a merchant from business retired. 

Rich, gouty and gruff, a presuming old sinner; — 
Young Kitty's fair form and sweet face he admired. 

And thought to himself, " I can easily win her." 
So he showed her his palace, and made a bluff bow. 

And said she might live there, but wickedly then, 
Kitty told him she long ago made a rash vow, 

'•'•Not to marry a hear for the sake of his den!'''' 

A miser came next ; he was fearless and bold 
In claiming his right to Miss Kitty's affection ; 

He said she'd not want for a home Avhile his gold 
Could pay for a cabin to give her protection ! 



KITTY'S CHOICE. II5 

Half vexed at his boldness, but calm in a trice, 
She curtseyed, and thanked him, and blushingly 
then, 

Demurely repeated her sage aunt's advice, 

" Hot to marry a hog for the sake of his 2)€n ! " 

The next was a farmer ; young, bashful and shy. 

He feared the bold wooers who came from the city ; 
But the flush on his cheek, and the liglit in his eye, 

Soon kindled a flame in the bosom of Kitty, 
" My life will be one of hard labor," he said ; 

"But, darling, come share it Avith me if you can." 
"I suppose,'' she replied, gaily tossing her head, 

" I must marry the farm for the sake of the man! " 



ROLAND AND ROSALIE. 



A wild red rose was blossoming 

Upon its bending spray, 
Beside a sparkling woodland spring, 

Beneath the skies of May. 
Around its stem their golden bells 

The early cowslips hung, 
And drowsy bees in every cell 

Their dreamy murmurs sung. 

A rippling brooklet from the spring 

Went wand'ring on its way, 
Among the cowslips' golden bells, 

Beside the rose of May. 
And two fair children, like the stream. 

In life's unfettered hours. 
Came out beneath the spring's soft beam 

To play among the flowers. 

The blooming cheeks of Rosalie, 

And Roland's golden hair, 
"Were lovelier than the rose of May, 

Than cowslip bells more fiir. 



ROLAND A NDROSALIE, II7 

The sunlight ghincing on the wave 

Ne'er woke a brighter smile, 
Than beamed from his soft azure eye, 

And. wreathed her lijos the while 

They scared the wild bees from their cells 

Beneath the bending spray, 
And with the cowslip's golden bells 

They twined the rose of May. 
And Roland bade fair Rosalie 

Her gentle head bend low. 
The while he bound the braided wreath 

Above her brow of snow. 

"Now list thee, Roland," said the maid, 

" This broad green leaf shall be 
A fairy boat to bear thy hopes 

O'er life's uncertain sea. 
And this small petal, golden-hued, 

An argosy of mine, 
Shall fear no wreck by wave or storm, 

While floating close to thine." 

" So may they float, dear Rosalie," 

The noble Roland said; 
And side by side adown the stream 

The fairy vessels sped. 
And down the broader stream of life, 

Two barks, launched side by side, 
Went long ago proud Roland Vere 

And Rosalie, his bride. 



MY ROSE. 



The floAver I love best is no delicate blossom;' 

Tenderly nurtured in luxury's bower, 
Fit only to bloom on a lace-covered bosom, 

And flaunt in the glax-e of the ball room an hour. 
No ; out on the prairie my wild rose is growing. 

Fanned by the free Avinds that come from the 
Avest, 
The Avarm hue of health on her bright cheek is 
glowing ; 

My Avild rose of beauty, the Rose I love best. 

The maiden I Avooed AA^as no exquisite fairy, 

Fragile and dainty, and useless as foir. 
To bask in the light like a gossamer airy. 

And vanish aAvay at the shadow of care. 
No ; brave in her loA^eliness, like my Avild blossom. 

She smiles through the storms that have broken 
my rest, 
BrmgLug comfot and balm to my desolate bosom, 

O such is the Rose I have clasped to my breast 



A SONG FOR THEE. 



A song for thee, thou joyous chikl, 

So lightly bounding o'er the lea, 
With heart so pure, and laugh so wild, 

A merry song for thee ! 
All day the blue bird gaily sings, 

The robin makes his vespers long. 
And warbles still with folded wings 

For thee a merry song. 

A song for thee, thou maiden fair ; 

Of hope and joy thy blue eyes speak, 
Spring's earliest buds are in thy hair, 

Its bloom upon thy cheek. 
Thou standest by a charmed stream, 

And low its murmurs sing to thee. 
Of youth's sweet prime, its morning dream, 

And angel purity. 

And thou who at the maiden's side 

Art pleading now with words so sweet, 



;J^20 -^ SONG FOR THEE. 

Now half subduing manhood's pride, 

And kneeling at her feet ; 
Thou would'st not list with half the joy 

To harjis, though strung and tuned above, 
As when with lips so bright, so coy. 

The maiden sings of love. 

A song for thee, thou matron dear ; 

There's beauty on thy placid brow, 
Thy dark eyes moist with many a tear 

Are yet all lovely now. 
Thy children come with songs of mirth, 

To thee their cheerfulness impart ; 
No joy can be in all the earth 

More Avelcome to thy heart. 

A song for thee, thou mourning one, — 

Ah, no ; while bending o'er the grave. 
Thou hearest but the sullen moan 

Of sorrow's whelming wave. 
Earth has no music now for thee, 

No power to charm thy heart's despair ; 
God must thy only refuge be. 

Thy only solace, prayer. 

A song for thee, thou man of years. 

Thou too art bending o'er the tomb ; 
Methinks thy waiting spirit hears 

The angels call thee home. 
A blessing on thine aged head, 

Thy spirit still is pure and young, 
And soon its pinions will be spread 

Those angel bands among. 



A SONG FOR THEE. ;^21 

A song for Heaven the home of love, 

The liome of innocence and ti'uth, 
A song for those who meet above 

In then- immortal youtli ! 
Onr life the strange, wild prelude seems 

To Heaven's undying minstrelsy, 
And death the note that breaks our dreams, 

And sets the spirit free. 



TO SUMMER. 



Stay thee, gentle Summer, stay; 
Haste not thus so soon away. 
See, the skies are blue above. 
Wooing thee with smiles of love. 
Blossoms beautiful and bright 
Tlirong around thy path of light, 
While the bending forest trees 
Stoop to hear the whispering breeze, 
As its murmurs seem to say. 
Gentle Summer, stay, O stay ' 

Morning in her radiant car 
Woos thee from the hills afar ; 
With alternate hopes and fears, 
Smiling now and now in tears, 
See she flings her balmy dew, 
Fresh from yonder vault of blue. 
O'er the parched and drooping grass 
Where thy glowing footsteps pass, 
And Avith sighs she seems to say, 
Gentle Summer, stay, O stay ! 



TO SUMMER. 

Noon liath brought thee robes of- light, 
Wove with clouds and sunbeams bright, 
And thy pure and dazzling brow 
Beams in cloudless beauty now. 

See, he looks on thee with pride 

Summer, thou'rt his chosen bride ; 
Do not from his presence fly. 
See, the love that lights his eye, 
Half commanding, seems to say, 
Stay thee, gentle Summer, stay ! 

Evening flings her splendors free 
O'er the sunset skies for thee 
See beside the sparkling rills 
Where the clouds have kissed the hills, 
Stands she now with matron grace. 
Wooing thee to her embrace. 
Rest thee, beauteous Summer, rest, 
In the crimson curtained west. 
Haste not thus so soon away. 
Stay thee, gentle Summer, stay. 

Night hath spread her ocean blue. 
Gemmed with isles of golden hue ; 
Billows sleep in silence there ; 
Cloudless all that sea of air ; 
Save one shadowy sail afir. 
Moored beside its island star. 
Lovely Summer, if thou go. 
Storms will rise and tempests blow ; 
Wrecked will be that fairy sail 
If it meet the autumn gale ; 
6 



123 



124 TO SUMMER. 

Haste not then so soon away, 
Stay thee, gentle Summer, stay. 

Vainly morning spreads her feast 
In the bright and balmy east ; 
Vainly o'er the hills afar, 
Evening lights her beacon star ; 
Vainly with his luring wiles 
Noon in manhood's beauty smiles. 
O'er her j^lacid azure deeps 
Night, the jewelled goddess weeps — 
Vain the smile, and vain the tear. 
Summer may not linger here. 

Clouds are darkening round thy way; 
Summer, here thou canst not stay. 
Higher, darker still they rise, 
Mountains floating in the skies. 
Speed thee on thy pathway now, 
Summer with the dazzling brow. 
Ah, thy cheek is cold and pale. 
Soon thou'lt slumber in the vale. 
Faded flowers shall strew thy grave, 
Drooping willows o'er thee wave. 
Autumn winds shall sing thy knell, 
Gentle Summer, fare thee well ! 



NIGHT STORMS. 



To-niglit the rain is falling, 

The lightning blinds my eyes, 
The clouds to earth are calling, 

The echoing earth replies. 
I list with fearful wonder, 

As nigher still and nigher 
The rattling, crashing thunder 

Bounds on its path of lire ! 
With every bound it maketh, 

With every flash of light, 
My sj)irit backward taketh 

To other days its flight. 
One year — alas, one only! 

It seems an age to me, 
For I now sad and lonely, 

Was then so blest with thee. 
One year ago the flashing 

Of light was in the sky. 
The thunder wild and crashing. 

With stormy speed went by. 
It echoed from the hill top, 

Its voice was in the vale, 
And then as now each rain drop 

Was paired with one of hail. 



126 NIGHT STORMS. 

The fierce north wind was rending 

The oaks so strong and tall, 
Whose broken boughs descending 

Fell on onr cabin wall. 
Our lowly cabin trembled 

Beneath the rushing flood, 
And I but half dissembled 

The fear that chilled my blood. 
But thoix wert then beside me. 

Thy arm was round me thrown, 
And gently didst thou chide me 

For fears to thee unknown. 
And while the storm was sweeping 

Adown the darkened sky, 
And I in terror weeping 

Clung to thee tremblingly ; 
How fondly didst thou bless me. 

And smile my fears away. 
And to thy bosom press me, 

And tell me of a day 
When thou in early childhood, 

Beside thy native stream, 
Didst wander in the wildwood, 
^ Beneath the sunset beam ; 
And how the sky was clouded 

With sudden storms that came 
Like demon spirits shrouded 

In robes of living flame ; 
And how their voices sounded 

To thee, a fearless child, 
As through the air they bounded. 

Like music strange and wild ; 



NIGHT STORMS. 127 

Like instruments from heaven, 

The drum and cLarion shrill, 
To every spirit given. 

And played on every hill. 
The stormy chorus roaring 

Swept onward by the gale, 
The rushing waters pouring 

Adown the darkened vale, 
These sang to thy young spirit 

In glorious harmony. 
For well didst thou inherit 

A passion for the free, 
A passion for the fearless. 

With strength and beauty fraught ; 
And night storms wild and cheerless 

To thee no terror brought. 
I felt my heart grow stronger 

By beating close to thine, 
The lightning seemed no longer 

AVith angry glare to shine. 
I blessed its light revealing 

To me thy tranquil eyes, 
I blessed the thunder pealing 

In triumph through the skies. 
I loved the storm for waking 

Such thoughts within thy breast, 
My fetters too were breaking. 

My spirit too was blessed. 
But noAV alone and tearful 

I list the tempest's roar, 
My heart beats f lint and fearful, 

I hear thv voice no more. 



THOU COME ST TO ME. 



Thou comest when the midnight breeze 

All mournfully is sighing, 
And but the dead leaves on the trees 

In broken tones replying — 
Then comest thou to me ; 
Thy voice is like the night wind's voice, 

In mystery enshrouded : 
Thy form is like my thought of thee 
Where thou dost stand all gloriously 

In light and joy unclouded. 
Thou dost enfold me as the breeze 
Clasps in its viewless arms the trees, 

Whose thousand pulses tremble 
If but the faintest breath they feel, 

Nor can their joy dissemble. 

My heart is like the withered leaf, 

So faded, drooping, dying ; 
Yet one sweet joy it hath in grief 

To hear thy voice still sighing, 
' O love, come up to me ! 
Come up to me ! ' O spirit voice, 

Mysterious in thy sweetness. 



THOU COMEST TO ME. 129 

Fain would the withered leaf arise, 
And to be near thee in the skies, 

Outstrip the wind in fleetness ; 
But while it waits a higher will, 
Be thou amid the night wind still. 

And still for me be keeping, 
As thou hast kept, though all unseen, 

Thy watch of love unsleeping. 



6* 



AN APRIL DAY. 



Fair children leave your careless play 

And bring your sweet wild flowers to me, 
For all too sad my heart has grown 

To mingle in your revelry. 
Come where the young spring sunlight falls 

So softly on this bank of green, 
Where pale blue violets gem the grass 

Half hid beneath its emerald sheen. 

Come pile your fragrant blossoms here. 

And here your own fair forms recline — 
The good beside the beautiful ; 

And while I thus your garlands twine, 
I'll tell you why so strangely fell 

This sadness on my heart to day, 
And why I siglied amid your mirtl). 

And could not join your thoughtless play. 

And yet, why should I speak my giief. 

Since hearts like youi-s, so light and young, 

Have not the power of sympathy 

With those by deej^est sorrow wrung. 



AN APRIL DAY. 151 

Nay, Fanny, dry tliose violet eyes, 

And clieck your sweet reproaches too ; 

But late you bade me spare a bud, 
ISTor from it brush the morning dew : 

And sliall I now the calyx break. 

And rudely force a flower to bloom. 
When svell I know the passing cloud 

"Will shroud its tender heart with gloom ? 
Your heart is like that folded bud 

So gently opening hour by hour, 
A sudden storm might wake to life 

A premature and drooping flower. 

But seest thou down this grassy slope, 

Yon rippling streamlet wind along. 
And dost thou hear in murmiirs sweet 

Its low, but never-ceasing song? 
I knew a stream fir, fir away. 

As like to this as stream may be. 
And sweeter blossoms gemmed its banks 

Than these I tvfine for thee. 

More sweet because beheld by one 

Who ever wandered by my side. 
And loved with me each flower that grew 

Along that streamlet's sparkling tide. 
O many an April day like this 

We've roamed among those blooming ti-ees, 
Tlio boxwood and the hawthorn fiir. 

Whose honeyed fragrance filled the breeze. 



132 AN APRIL DAY 

And still when conies the balmy spring, 

The scented liaAvthorn blooms as foir, 
And year by year that nameless stream 

Will chant its own low music there. 
But I shall wander there no more, 

Nor clasp that once beloved hand, 
Cold, cold in dust it moulders now, 

And I am in a stranger's land. 

This grassy bank, these budding trees, 

Familiar flowers and flowing stream, 
With hallowed memories filled my heart. 

And made the past the present seem. 
But when your cheerful laugh rang out. 

The charm was broke, the vision flown ; 
I saw you loving and beloved, 

I felt a stranger, and alone. 

And this was why I turned aside 

And smiled not on your mirthful glee ; 
And this was why I could not bear 

To mingle in your revelry. 
But now I see o'er each young face 

The light of purest friendship play, 
So take the garlands I have twined, 

I'll make you sad no more to-day. 



MY MORNING DREAM. 



I saw it in my morning dream — 
A ship with all its sails outspread ; 

Not on the sea, nor on the stream, 
But through the waveless air it sped. 

I saw it when with canvass white 

Before the freshening breeze iinrolled, 

The unrisen sun's first beam of light 
Had tinged its sides with paly gold. 

High up against the orient sky, 
"Without a cloud its path to mar, 

It held its way triumphantly, 

While o'er it beamed the morning star. 

And still as swept the twilight sea 
That star-led ship so wondrous fair. 

Sweet strains of angel minstrelsy 
Came floating backward on the air. 

I could but weep, I could but gaze, 
And clas}) my hands and wildly pray 



134 MY MORNING DREAxM. 

That I miglit join their angel hiys, 
And sing as fearlessly as they. 

And lo, as still I prayed and wept, 
Still nearer to the earth they came ; 

And as the proud ship downward swept 
I heard them speak my humble name. 

I heard one dear fiimiliar tone — 

Familiar now, alas, no more ; 
One hand reached forth to clasp my own — 

A hand I oft had clasped before. 

Without the power or wish to speak, 
I stood, with silent joy oppressed. 

Till startled by my own wild shriek 

When struck the ship a rock's rude crest. 

My prayers had lured it to my side 
AVhile rung the angel anthem sweet, 

And now it fell, in all its pride, 
A glorious ruin at my feet. 

Forever stilled those triumph lays, 

That pilot star forever gone ; 
And I, alas, but weep and gaze 

Beside the ruined ship alone. 

If this may be the doom of woe 

- That waits my bark on being's stream, 

I cannot tell ; I only know 

I saw it in my morning dream. 



THE BLUEBIRD^S SOXG. 



Each inoini beside my 02>en door 

The bhie bird sits and sings to me ; 
Those same sweet notes told o'er and o'er, 

But prove his loving- constancy. 
" I love tliee ; " thus tlie blue bird sings, 

And while the prelude swells more free, 
He lightly lifts his azure wings, 

And turns his head to look at me. 

I love thee ! gently as the dew 

Upon the earth's green bosom falls, 
So to my heart that love-note true 

A thought of fonner joy recalls. 
I love thee ! soft winds whisper love. 

Earth blooms amid its light divine, 
It smiles from yon blue sky above. 

It warms thy heart and throbs in mine ! 

'Tis thus the blue bird sings to me. 
And thus he proves himself sincere, 

By warbling o'er unceasingly 

Such notes as these where I can hear. 



136 THE BLUEBIRD'S SONG. 

I love thee ! ' Tis the sweetest song 

That ever bird or poet sung; 
' Twill make the heart forget its wrong, 

E'en when by deepest sorrow wrung ; 

'Twill make the rose bloom on the cheek, 

The starlight brighten in the eyes ; 
No dearer words the lips can speak, 

No truer joy the heart can prize. 
Sing on, sing on, thou darling bird. 

And say, I love thee, o'er and o'er. 
But do not think I never heard 

That same sweet love song breathed before ! 

Once when a spring as bright as this 

Was blooming o'er the grassy lea, 
The lips that pressed on mine a kiss 

Did softly whisper it to me. 
And days and nights, for years and years, 

I've listened to that tender strain, 
And still my heart unwearied hears 

The murmur of the sweet refrain. 

I love thee ; love, bend close to mine 

Thy loving eyes that say, I love, 
I^lain as the night stars say, we shine. 

Without a word the lips to move. 
And thus while mine are answering true, 

O love-bird by my open door, 
Still flash in light thy wings of blue 

And since, I love thee, evermore. 



ROSES BLOOM. 



By tlie tlioniy wayside hedges, 
Blushing o'er tlie rocky ledges, 
Creeping 'mid the mossy sedges 
By the woodland sti'eamlet's side, 

Roses bloom. 
In tlie palace gardens glowing, 
When the winds of June are blowing, 
Or in darkened windows^ knowing 
Scarce the lamj^light from the sun, 

Roses bloom. 

When the summer sun declining 
Slantly through the Avood is shining. 
Rustic lovers sweetly twining 
Blossoms with their vows of love, 

Bless the Rose. 
Through all life it shall remind them 
Of the springtime left behind them. 
Of the years that yet shall findL them 
Like the blended bloom and fragrance, 

Of the Rose. 



138 ROSES BLOOM. 

Now the motlier watch is keei^ing 

O'er her infant sweetly sleeping, 

And with rapture ahnost weeping 

As she sees on its fair cheek, 

Roses bloom ; 

Then, while grief her heart is rending, 

In her silent sorrow bending. 

Tears are with the dewdrops blending, 

On the Rose that blooms as fan- 
On its tomb. 

Beneath the hedge the rose is dying, 
From beauty's cheek the bloom is flying, 
And youth and beauty lowly lying, 
Leave the world they once have blessed 

Wrapped in gloom. 
But Avhere they died new charms are springino-j 
As death its ceaseless change is bringing. 
So life to life is ever clinging. 
And still for life, for love and death, 

Roses bloom. 



THE PINE. 



As hour by hour at day's decline 
I've sat and watched yon stately pine, 
And seen its pencilled branches lie 
So still against the wintry sky, 
Or softly waving to and fro 
To welcome down the falling snow, 
I've wished that to my heart were given 
The hopes that look alone to heaven ; 
Then, like the Pine tree ever green, 
Amid the wintry tempests seen. 
So calmly might I brave the strife, 
And rise above the storms of life. 
Then soft as on yon waving tree 
Would fall the snows of age on me. 
And birds that chant in early spring 
Amid my sheltering boughs would sing; 
And winds that through the forests moan, 
"Would sigh to me in gentler tone. 
The soft, confiding whispering breeze 
Would jDass the leafless forest trees. 



]^40 THE PINE. 

And welcomed to my thrilling breast, 
Fold up its weary wings to rest. 
So blessed and blessing might I rise 
Calm and serenely toward the skies, 
So might I be, at life's decline, 
Loved as I love yon stately pine. 



"HATH NOT THY ROSE A CANKER?" 



Pressed with the weight of morning dews 
Its slender stalk the rose was bending, 
And red and white in changing hues 
Upon its cheek were sweetly blending. 
But underneath the leaflets bright, 
By blushing beauty hid from sight, 
Enamored with its fragrance rare, 
The canker worm was feasting there. 

O thou who in thy youthful days 

Ambition's wreaths art proudly twining. 
And fondly hoping worldly praise 

Will cheer thine after-years' declining, 
BeAvare lest every tempting rose 
That in ambition' s pathway grows, 
Conceal beneath its semblance fair 
The lurking canker of despair. 

And thou who in thine early morn 
For sin the paths of truth art leaving ; 



142 "HATH NOT THY ROSE A CANKER?^' 

Remember, though no ponited thorn 

May pierce the garland thou art weaving, 
Yet every bud whence flowerets bloom 
Shall its own living sweets entomb, 
For deep the canker worm of care 
Is feasting on its vitals there. 

Thou too, the beaxitiful and bright. 

At pleasure's shrine devoutly kneeling. 
Dost thou not see the fatal blight 
Across thy roseate chaplet stealing ? 

Time hath not touched with fingers cold 
Those glossy leaves of beauty's mould, 
And yet eacli bud and blossom gay 
Is marked for slow but sure decay 

O ye who sigh for flowers that blooin 

In one eternal spring of gladness, 
Where beauty finds no darkened tomb. 
And joy hath never dreamed of sadness, 
Tliere is a realm ye all may know. 
Where Sliaron's fadeless roses blow; 
Nor blighting breath of sin or care. 
Nor sorrow's canker enter there ! 



APRIL AND MAY. 



The changing April sunlight played 

Its merry gambols on the stream, 
Now veiling all its waves in shade, 

Then glancing forth with dazzling gleam ; 
Now touching with a softer light 

The mimic whirlpools on its breast, 
Then gilding with a radiance bright 

Each tiny wavelet's lifted crest. 
The flowers that grew by thousands there 

In many a careless tangled braid, 
Gave fragrance to the restless air 

That ' mid their bright corollas played. 
The scented boxwood by the hill 

Was holding all its blossoms up, 
And April raindrops sparkled still 

In each uplifted, snowy cup. 
Beside the stream the snow white thoi*n 

Spread out its virgin blossoms fair, 
And incense with the blossoms born 

Went floating throuo;h the sunlit air. 



144 APRIL AND MAY. 

The long grass waved its emerald plumes 
Unceasing in the western breeze, 

And birds that breathed the sweet perfumes 
Were warbling ' midst the budding trees. 

Sweet morn, the last of April days, 

'Twas meet that one so fair as thou. 
Should fade before our longing gaze, 

With garlands blooming on thy brow. 
' Twas meet that o'er thy infant bloom 

The softest breath of spring should blow ; 
Twas meet that round thy early tomb 

The fairest flowers of spring should grow. 
For ere another morn may break 

In radiant beauty o'er the earth, 
The sweetly blushing May shall wake 

To light and life, to joy and mirth. 
And all the dew that nature showers 

Like gems along thy pathway now. 
Is but to nourish brighter flowers 

To twine around her cherub brow. 
And birds with practiced notes must sing 

Their sweetest anthems on the breeze, 
'Tis meet the favorite child of Spring 

Be met with honors such as these. 

And thus was born the beauteous May, 
Amid the dew, amid the bloom. 

She rose, like beauty from decay. 
To strew fresh buds o'er April's tomb. 



A SONG FOR MAY. 



While the fresh green grass is springing, 

Starred and gemmed with countless flowers, 
And the sweet young May is bringing 

Perfume from her for off bowers. 
While the robin's song is ringing 

Through the balmy morning hours, 
Every poet too is singing — 

Singing of the sweet May showers. 
Singing of the dawning beauty, 

Of this lovely world of ours ! 

Hark ! the blue bird's song entrancing 

From the budding orchard rings. 
While the rosy light is glancing 

From his restless azure wings ! 
Poets, while the spring advancing 

Thus her cheering music brings, 
O remember that to mortals 

Ye are birds without their wings ! 
Poet-birds, and bird-like poets, 

Each is hnpj)iest while he sings. 



140 A SONG FOR MAY. 

Then together join in chorus, 

Welcome in the smiling May ; 
Bless the green buds bending o'er us, 

They'll be leaves another day. 
Bless the wind that goes before us, 

Waking beauty in our way, 
Till we dream it doth restore us 

Back to life's sweet April day ! 
Birds and poets join in chorus. 

Hail the l:»irth of blooming May ! 



OUR WILDWOOD HOME. 



A lowly wildwood home is ours, 
No spacious halls, no lofty towers, 
No gardens gay with fairy bowers, 

Nor pomp nor pride are here. 
Yet wealth M-ith fingers nerved with gold, 
Those magic fingers bright and cold, 
Amid the realms of romance old 

Ne'er wrought a home so dear. 

Its summer roof is gay with moss. 
And climbing vines and roses cross. 
And blooming trees their branches toss 

In breeze and sunshine there ; 
And when her garland autumn weaves 
Of coral seeds and painted leaves. 
The moss grows gray along the eaves. 

Like age's whitening hair. 

When piled with winter's drifting snow, 
Though fierce the north winds round it blow, 



148 OUR WILD WOOD HOME. 

No chill can reach the liearth below 

Where social love holds sway, 
Where cheerily each winter night, 
While blazing fires bui"n high and bright, 
The scattered household band unite 
Around the hearthstone gray. 

The dear old hearthstone of our home ! 
Where'er on earth our steps shall roam, 
No purer light than thine can come. 

Life's pilgrimage to cheer — 
Light from the blazing brands piled high, 
And holier light, that cannot die. 
From each warm lip and loving eye 

That makes our household dear. 



LONG AGO. 



Long ago when I a dreamer 

By the April brooks went strajdng, 
I but saw the opening blossoms, 

I but heard the breezes playing. 
Pressing oft the springing mosses 

Where had slept the winter snow, 
r could feel no thorns beneath them, 

In that blissful long ago. 

Long ago Avhen half awakened 

From that idle springtime dreaming, 
I but saw the summer splendor 

O'er life's sparkling waters beaming. 
Twining then hope's foiry garlands, 

Roseate in their summer glow, 
Could I think of blight or darkness, 

In that radiant long ago ? ^ 

Long ago all dreaming vanished, 

Died the springtime blossoms tender, 
Long ago the autumn shadows 

Fell upon that summer splendor! 
I with weary hands am toiling 

Where life's darkened stream moves slow. 
And like withered leaves around me, 

Lie the hopes of long ago. 



MY PRISONED BIRD. 



I listen to each bird that sings 

Among these budding trees of May, 
And weep for one Avhose weary wings 

Are folded in its cage to-day. 
A dreamy, drooping, silent bird. 

Nor note of joy nor i^laint of woe 
Ai*e from its lonely jsrison heard — 

Ah me, it was not always so ! 

Poor bird ! my pet, my idol too. 

In those bright years when life was joy ; 
When ' mid the flowers in May's sweet dew 

Thon sang'st of bliss without alloy! 
Of bliss that would be thine and mine 

Beyond those far unfolding gates. 
Where by her radiant noonday shrine 

The ever-glorious Future waits. 

Ah me ; how wild the pathway grew 

As toward life's noontide gates we came ! 



MY PRISONED BIRD. 151 

Hot winds drank up the sweet May dew, 
And crisped the flowers as with a flame. 

Strange murmurs in the air were heard, 
Of toil and strife and wihl unrest ; 

Strange voices mocked my timid bird, 
And drove it slirinking to my breast. 

I clasped it, trembling, shrinking too ; 

Yet onward urged by life's rude throng, 
I did what sti'ong ones bade me do. 

And stilled for aye its voice of song. 
I closed it in my darkened heart, 

Shut out the light of love's sweet day, 
And there it sadly droops apart, 

Uncheered by all this bloom of May. 



THE WHIP-POOK-WILL. 



In dimness of twilight, all sadly and lonely, 
A youthful adventurer rode o'er the plain. 
The stillness was broke by the whippoorwill only, 
As sadly he sounded his mournful refrain. 
By the stream near the mill 
Sang the lone whippoorwill, 
And echo far distant caught up the wild strain, 

Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will ; 
She murmured it o'er to her favorite hill, 

And faintly the hill sung it back to the plain. 

The wanderer sighed, for his steps were departing 
Far, far from his home and the land of his birth. 
And, spite of his pride, the warm tear drops were 
starting. 
Unchecked and unheeded they fell to the earth, 
While unceasingly still 
Sang the lone whippoorwill. 
And sadly re-echoed the mournful refrain 

Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will ; 
But fainter it greAV as he paused on the hill, 

And turned his last look toward the valley and 
plain. 



THE W H I P-P R- W ILL. 1 53 

Then he thought of his parents Avho gave him their 
blessing, 
Of sisters wlio murmured their tearful adieu, 
Of brothers whose hands he no more should be press- 
ing. 
But most of a maiden whose soft eyes of blue 
Seemed to follow him still, 
Wliile the lone whippoorwill 
More sadly was sounding the mournful refrain, 

Whip-pooi'-will, whip-poor-will ; 
Till the wanderer turned with a sigh from the hill 
And the shadows of night settled over the plain. 

Now years have gone by, and the youth is a stranger, 

Still far from his kindred and far from his love. 
But there lies near his heart through all peril and 
danger 
A soft golden ringlet encircling a dove ; 
It was there on the hill 
When the lone whi])poorwill 
So mournfully sounded the solemn refrain. 

Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will ; 
' Tis the charm of his life, and he'll cherish it still, 
As the gift of the maiden who dwelt on the plain. 

He Avanders alone, in the twilight, in sadness. 

He dreams of the maiden, the ringlet, the dove. 
When sudden his eyes are uplifted in gladness. 
The night birds are wheeling in circles above! 
Never, since by the mill 
When the lone whippoorwill 
So sadly was sounding the mournful refrain. 
Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will. 



154 THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 

Hath he heard the Avild notes that liis bosom could 
thrill, 
And now he could weep but to hear them again. 

But in vain may he linger, in vain may he listen. 

The night-birds like arrows shoot over the plain — 
They are gone, and the cold stai-s in mockery glisten, 
While silence and darkness close round him again. 
Nevermore by the mill 
Shall the lone whippoorwill 
For him be repeating the mournful refrain, 

Whip-poor-will, whip-poor-will ; 
He knows the dark omen can bode him but ill, 
The maid is another's — his worship is vain ! 



MY BOYHOOD'S LOVE. 



My boyhood's love ! The old man sighed 
And shook his thin locks in the breeze, 

No words in lill the world beside 
Can thrill my aged heart like these. 

My life seems like yon wintry cloud 
Slow moving down the evening sky, 

From its high station, cold and proud. 
It darkly sinks, alone to die. 

Alone, but for the one bright star 
That far beyond it beams in heaven; 

Alone, but for such joys as are 

From angel minds to mortals given ! 

O can it be that she who died 

With youth's bright roses on her brow, 
Who slept to Avake in beauty's pride 

Will stoop to know and love me now ? 



156 MY BOYHOOD'S LOVE. 

Wlnit dark, mysterious fate is this 
That bids the weary still live on, 

Till the last drop of wretchedness 
From life's embittered cup is gone ? 

Look on this frail, decaying form. 

These sightless eyes, these locks of snow, 

This pulse that once beat high and warm, 
Scarce bids the vital current flow. 

Yet sure as in its beauty fair 

Beyond the cloud the star beams true, 
So sure my boyhood's love is there, 

So sure she knows and loves me too ! 

Ask not her name: the angels know 
What name her S2:)irit bears above. 

The only one she has below 

Is in my heart — my boyhood's love ! 



"LIFE IS REAL." 



"Life is real! Life is earnest!" 

Why that sigh V 
Why that look of hopeless sorrow 
When thou thinkest of the morrow ? 

Why that tearful eye? 
Bind again thy loosened tresses, 
And unclasp the hand that presses 

Thy cold brow ; 
" Life is real ! Life is earnest ! " 
Vainly to the past thou turnest, 

That shall fail thee now. 

'Tis but labor that awaits thee 

On the morn; 
Other hands have wrought before thee, 
Other eyes are watching o'er thee, 

Though from kindred torn. 
Shall thy spirit droop and languish. 
And these burning tears of anguish 

Pale thy cheek, 
While thy woman heart is fearing 
Lest the world thy sighs o'erliearing. 

Now should call thee weak ? 

Tears from thee are like the life drops 

From the vine ; 
Let thine eyes their lustre keeping 
Save the strength thus lost in weeping. 



158 "LIFE IS REAL." 

Why shouldst thou repine, 
While the promise still is given — 
" Weary hearts find rest in heaven ! " 

Look above : 
There's one truth that cannot alter, 
Earthly friends may fail and falter, 

God is always love. 

O 'tis not the far oif future, 

Ever bright 
With fair hopes around it springing, 
That from thy lone heart is wringing 

These sad drops to-night. 
'Tis the living present, lonely, 
'Tis the day of trial, only 

Dreaded now. 
For thy strength will come to-morrow, 
And thou'lt look on care and sorrow 

With unclouded brow. 

" Life is real ! Life is earnest ! " 

God of Heaven ! 
What alternate pi-ide and meekness, 
Giant strength and infant weakness 

To the heart are given ! 
Worn with grief and gay with gladness. 
Crowned with reason, dark with madness, 

Must it be, 
Ere its pilgrimage is ended, 
Ere its dust with dust is blended. 
And its life with thee ! 



THE SPIRIT'S WARNING. 



Every night a spirit coraeth 

And it whispereth unto me — 
Dreara'st thou yet, O shimbering mortal, 

Wake and grasp reality ! 
Dreams are for the child of fancy, 

Visions haunt the idle brain ; 
All thy youtli has passed in dreaming, 

Canst thou call it back again ? 
Think on what thy heart once promised 

In its deep unsi)oken vow, 
See that promise unfulfilled, 

Waken and redeem it now ! 

Thus to me a spirit whispereth 

In the silent hours of sleep. 
And my heart, awaking, pondereth 

O'er its warning sad and deep. 
Since my childhood's tAvilight morning 

I have thought what life might be, 
When the noon of womanhood 

Threw its hallowed lisfht on me, 



160 THE SPIRIT'S WARNING. 

In those dim and early moments, 

Viewed through fancy's light alone, 
Who could paint the wondrous glory 

That around the future shone ? 
All that claims the artist's pencil 

In the dew-enameled flowers, 
All that poets dream of beauty 

Born amid hope's radiant bowers, 
All that science hath of brightness 
Circling round her earthly name. 
All the splendor that she borrows 

From religion's purer flame, 
All of joy that love hath pi-omised 

To the young heart's fondest prayer, 
liife's sweet hopes and dreams of heaven, 

Gathered in one halo there ! 
Then from out that dazzling future, 

Came a voice whose solemn tone 
Trembling o'er my heart's deep pulses 

Woke an echo in my own. 
Lo, all prophet-like and holy 

Rose the solemn voice of Truth, 
O'er the light, beguiling numbers 

Hope was chanting to my youth. 
And it told me life was changeful 

As the wind-tossed ocean wave. 
Where each crested billow sinking 

Brings another to its grave. 
And it spoke in accents mournful 

Of life's joys by sorrow crossed, 
Of its own high shrine forsaken. 

And the soul's fair Eden lost. 



THE SPIRIT'S WARNING. JQ^ 

Knelt I then, subdued and prayerful, 

Faded fancy's light away, 
And o'er all the distant future 

Shone a milder, purer ray. 
With a purpose deep and earnest 

Bent I at Truth's holy shrine. 
Vowing from my inmost spirit 

But to heed its voice divine. 
Through my life that vow hatli ever 

Promj^ted each new lay I sung ; 
But too oft a trifling semblance 

Fancy's pencil o'er them flung. 
Like the half awakened sleeper 

Clinging to his morning dreams, 
Blending still the shades of darkness 

With the light that round him beams ; 
Dreaming though the day be breaking. 

Idly pleased with each new ray. 
Hailing, but with languid pleasure. 

Tokens of a brighter day, — 
Thus my j'outh has passed in dreaming. 

Now a spirit saith to me ; — 
" Dream no more, O slumbering mortal ! 

Wake and grasp reality. 
Lo, the light of Truth is round thee. 

Hail it for the joy divine 
It hath brought to other spirits. 

Though it brings not peace to thine. 
Though the charm of life be broken 

Like the foam on ocean's wave. 
Where each crested billow sinking 

Brings another to its orave, 



102 THE SPIRIT'S WAIINING. 

Still with higher liopes ami purer 
Than beguiled thy aimless youth, 

Let thy songs henceforth be given 
For the earnest, living truth ! " 



MY HEART GROWS SAD FOR THEE. 



My heart grows sad for thee, my love, . 

When in thy gentle eyes 
For my o'erburdened life so oft 

The tears of pity rise. 

When sympathetic weariness 

On thy dear broAV I see, 
I wish that I might build a bower 

Like Rosamond's for thee ; 

A bower secure from every ill 
That human heart hath wrung, 

Where thou might'st dwell without a care 
Thy sister flowers among. 

And I, who may not, dare not shrink 

Life's wildest storm to meet. 
Might sometimes come to breathe a word 

Of worship at thy feet ; 



1(54 MY HEART GROWS SAD FOR THEE. 

Might know that all the joy of love, 
And life's sweet hopes were thine, 

Though ever to ray lips were pressed 
Its mingled gall and wine. 

Thon tremblest in my arms beloved, 

Thy tears are falling free, — 
Ah, would that life had more of light 

And less of gloom for thee ! 

Yet by these clinging arms I know. 

And by thy pleading eyes. 
Thou still Avould'st pray to share my lot 

Though darker tempests rise. 

Thou would'st not give one hour of bliss 
Our suffering love hath known, 

To sit in regal jDomp beside 
A monarch on his throne ! 

Forgive the thought, though born of love, 
That Avould have robbed thy life 

Of joy that they alone can feel 
"Who share its fiercest strife. 

Thou gavest but the sympathy 
To thy sweet nature true ; — 

When bends the oak beneath the blast 
The vine must tremble too. 

Then closer clasp thy twining arms 
Till strife and storm are o'er, 



MY HEART GROWS SAD FOR THEE. 1(35 

I Avill not tear tliee from my side 
While thus the tempests roar. 

Misfortunes cloud our life's young morn, 

The skies are dark above, 
But side by side we'll brave the storm, 

Our strenarth our steadfast love. 



POESY. 

" Thou ai't a rock, 
I, a ■weak wave, would break on thee and die." 

Alex. Smith. 



O not a rock, sweet Poesy, art thou to me. 

Where thousand stronger waves than I might fall 
iFrom thy cold front to that unpitying sea 

That opes to shroud them in oblivion's pall ; 
Where for one wave that might its foam wreaths 
bear 
To thy stern brow in mockery o'er them bending 
A thousand should sink down in weak despair, 
Their love for thee with their own death notes 
blending ; 
For man would love, and woman worship thee, 
Though thou wert rock, and they but ripples on the 
sea. 

O not a rock to me, sweet Poesy, art thou. 

Where braver barks than mine, with drooj^ing 
sail. 

Lost helm, and shivered mast, and broken prow, 
Might sink beside thee in the billows pale ; 



POESY. 1G7 

Where for one bark Avhose daring helmsman might 
In life's last flow on thy cold breast be lying, 

A thousand wrecks would strew the waves of nighty 
And love for thee still crown the woe of dying! 

For man would love and woman worship thee, 

If thou wert rock, and they but frail barks on the 
sea. 

O not a rock, earth-worshii^ed Poesy"; thou art 

Life's blossom-crowned and balmy breathing spring, 
A fount of joy perennial in the world's great heart, 

A bird whose song at rest or on the Aving 
Is ever sweet ; the bright electric flame 

That fills all nature with a life immortal. 
Our angel part, the inheritance that came 

From heaven, and goes before us to heaven's por- 
tal! 
Man well may love, and woman worship thee, 
Thou star-eyed child of light, undying Poesy ! 

O not a rock art thou to whom my panting soul 

Instinctive flies in all its joy or Avoe ! 
Thou whose sweet voice the storms of passion can 
control, 

And change wild griefs to music's softest flow ! 
Thou on whose breast of tenderest sympathy 

I still recline with confidence unfearing. 
While the same smile in childhood bent on me. 

Beams o'er me yet, more radiantly, more cheering. 
O thus forever may I cling to thee. 
My destiny's one hope — my heart's one idol, Poesy! 



MARCH! 



The march of the seasons through sunshine and rain 
Has brought the bleak March to our hearthstones 
again ; 
His Avinds piping shrill, 
Over valley and hill, 

Give a watchword of duty to all ; 
To each lip the word springs, 
But most cheerily rings, 

In the morn at the farmer's loud call, 

March ! 

Come boys, to the barnyard, your cattle to feed. 
And girls of your cows and your poultry take heed, 
Though the morning is chill. 
And the March winds blow shrill, 

Come cheerfully forth at the call ; 
There is life on the wings 
Of the gale as it sings 

In the pride of its freedom to all, 

March ! 



MARCH. 169 

Come men, with your axes and sinews of strengtli, 
The trees in yon fallow must measure their length 
On the ground 'neath the hill, 
Wliere the wind whistles shrill, 

Ere the shadows of evening shall fall ; 
Let our sturdy strokes ring 
A glad welcome to spring, 

Keeping time to her life-giving call, 

March ! 

We'll see to our fences, our haiTows and jilows. 
We'll give extra care to our lambkins and cows; 
That when March winds are still, 
And o'er valley and hill 

The warm sunlight of April shall fall, 
No hindrance they'll bring 
To the labors of spring. 

While I forth at the head of you all, 

March ! 

We'll march in the fuiTows so deep and so true, 
And plant the bright corn where the dark forest 
grew ; 
Our rich fallows we'll till. 
And as hopefully still 

From our hands shall the golden grains fall, 
Of the harvest we'll sing — 
' Tis the promise of Spring 

To all farmers who now heed her call ; 

March ! 



170 MARCH. 

And thus through all seasons, in sunshine and rain, 
Till March shall come round to our hearthstones 
again, 
With a steady good will, 
We will sow, reap and till, 

And, still mindful of life's coming fall, 
We can joyfully sing 
When our ripe sheaves we bring 

At the sound of our Maker's last call, 

Mai-ch ! 



A SPRING SONG. 



The clays are lengthening on the earth, 

And deepening in the azure heaven ; — 
How thankfully our hearts look up 

To Him who hath the Spring-time given. 
Not one of all the seasons four, 

Though rich in bloom and bounteousness, 
Brings to our life such tender joy. 

So sweet a crown of hope as this. 

VVe take the Summer's harvest gifts, 

And turn, with heat and toil oppressed, 
To lay the burdens that we bear 

On placid Autumn's matron breast. 
Then, shrinking from her fading charms, 

"We welcome Winter's icy reign, 
Well conscious that his jDarting breath 

Will wake the sweet young Spring again. 

Yoimg, with that pure, immortal life 

Born at the threshold of the tomb. 
And sweet with all its prophet buds 

Full of the Summer's ripened bloom. 
O God, though from our life Thou take 

The dearest treasures time can bring. 
Blight not the tender joys that wake 

Perennial with each blooming Spring ! 



HOEING CORK 



Out in the earliest liglit of morn 
Ralph was hoeing the springing corn ; 
The (lew fell flashing from blades of green 
Wlierever his glancing hoe was seen, 
While dark and mellow the hard earth grew 
Beneath his strokes so strong and true. 

And steadily still, hill after hill, 
As tlie sun went up he swung his hoe. 

Hoe, hoe, hoe, — row after row ; 
From the earliest light of the summer morn, 
Till the noonday sound of the dinner horn. 

What was Ralph thinking of all the morn. 

Out in the summer heat hoeing corn, 

With the sweat and dust on his hands and ilice, 

And toiling along at that steady pace ? 

A clear light beamed in his eye the while, 

And round his lips was a happy smile. 

As steadily still, hill after hill. 
While the sun went down he swung his hoe ; 

Hoe, hoe, hoe — row after row. 
Faster toward nightfall than even at morn 
He hastened his stej^s through the springing corn. 



JIOEING CORN. 173 

Across the road from this field of corn 
Was the stately home Avhere Ralj^h was born ; 
Where his father comited his stores of gold, 
And his lady mother so j^roud and cold 
Lived but for the silks and gauze and lace 
That shrouded her faded form and face ; 

While steadily still, hill after hill, 
Unthought of went Ralph, and swung his hoe, 

Hoe, hoe, hoe — row after row. 
Day after day through the springing corn. 
Toward the humble home of Isabel Lorn. 

This he was thinking of all the morn, 
And all day long as he hoed the corn, — 
" How sweet 'twill be when the shadows fall 
Over that little brown cottage wall. 
To sit by its door 'neath the clustering vine. 
With Isabel's dear little hand in mine ! 

So cheerily still, hill after hill, 
From morning till night I'll swing my hoe. 

Hoe, hoe, hoe — roAV after row, 
Knowing each step through the springing corn, 
Is bringing me nearer to Isabel Lorn ! " 

O glad was he then when the growing corn 
Shielded his steps from his mother's scorn: 
And glad that his father's miser hand 
Had barred all help from his fertile land ; 
So safely he kept his forest floAver, 
And dreamed of her beauty hour by liour, 
As steadily still, hill after hill. 



174 HOEING CORN. 

Through the field so broad he swung his hoe, 

Hoe, hoe, hoe — row after row, 
Knowing each step through the growing corn 
Was bringing him nearer to Isabel Lorn, 

So months passed on, and the ripened corn 
Was laid on the ground one autumn morn, 
While under the sod in the churchyard blest 
Ai'e two low graves where the aged rest. 
The father has left broad lands and gold. 
And the motlier her wealth of silks untold ; 

And sweet Isabel — why need I tell 
What she said to Ralph when without his hoe 

He sought her side ? It was not " no " 
That made her the mistress one summer morn, 
Of that stately home by the field of corn. 



KING AND QUEEN. 



I am a king in my own domain, 

And my little wife is queen, 
And jointly over our realm we reign, 

A royal couple I ween. 

Beauty and grace are the robes that flow 

From her lily shoulders down, 
The gems of truth on her bosom glow, 

And love is her golden crown. 

But her dainty hands are brown with toil, 
Her cheeks with the breezes' kiss. 

And she works for a tiller of the soil 
As if work for him were bliss. 

I am the king and the tiller too. 

My farm is my proud domain. 
And the will to dare and the strength to do 

Are the sceptres of my reign. 

£* 



176 KING AND QUEEN. 

At my touch the teeming earth yields up 
Her wealth for my feast and store ; 

The nectar of healtli brims high my cup, 
My measure of bliss runs o'er. 

O ne'er was a happier realm I ween 
Than ours 'neath the arching sky, 

And never a happier king and queen 
Than mv little wife and I ! 



SIGNS OF SPRING. 

TO MARY IX THE COUNTRY. 

You wonder how we city folks 

Can know that it is Spring, 
"With no green grass beneath onr feet, 

No wildwood birds to sing ! 
With no sweet blossoms springing up 

To brighten all the way, 
You wonder how we ever came 

To know that it was May, 
You say the fragrant pastures now, 

Where golden cowslips grow, 
Are filled with calves and little lambs, 

That run and gambol so ! 
And o'er the furrows black and long, 

Like emeralds clasped in jet. 
Each holding in its folded heart * 

A sparkling diamond set. 
The tender corn is peei^ing out, 

Unfolding one by one 



178 SIGNS OF SPRING. 

The dainty leaves that soon will flaunt 

More broadly in the sun. 
You say that o'er the waving wheat, 

Through all the breezy day, 
Like fairy children at their sport 

The lights and shadows play ; 
And that the blooming orchard trees 

Their branching censers swing. 
Perfuming all the sunlit air. 

And thus yoic know 'tis Spring ! 
But wonder how we city folks, 

Without the Avild bird's tune. 
Or lambs and orchards, wheat and corn. 

Can tell when it is June ! 

Dear Mary, what a simple girl ! 

How very countrified ! 
Your ignorance of city life 

Is shocking to my pride ! 
You seem to think that nothing green 

Can grow and flourish here ; 
Why, greenness is the very thing 

For which we're noted, dear. 
Whichever way you go, across, 

Or up, or down the street, 
You're pretty sure some s^Decimens . 

Of that bright hue to meet. 
And if you knew our business ways, 

You'd soon begin to see 
The greenest of your grass is pale 

Beside our verdancy. 



SIGNS OF SPRING. I79 

Unlike you simple country folks, 

Who in your plodding way 
Will " trade " and « dicker," " swap " and « sell," 

And always get your j^ay. 
Our city dealers sell "on time," 

They pile the profits high, 
In hopes to make a double haul 

When needed, by and by. 
They're green enough to stretch their hands. 

Expectant, for the gold. 
But soon discover 'tis themselves. 

And not the goods, are " sold." 
And editors will trust their friends 

Their paper bills for years. 
Though warned by starving publishers 

They sow to reap in tears. 

never in your greenest woods 
Where i-ankest verdure is. 

Could verdant hunters come across 

A o;reener thing than this ! 
And when their duns come back endorsed, 

" Poor," " Dead," or « Ran away," 

1 do not think your silly lambs 
More sheepish feel than they ! 

No ; greeneys are not wanting here, 

And through our city roam 
Calves quite as big as any two 

Around your country home. 

You talk of growing wheat and corn 
And orchards blooming gay, — 



180 SIGNS OF SPRING. 

But ^ve had plainer signs than these 

To tell ns it was May. 
Soon as the snow had left our streets, 

And dust had come instead, 
Each lady took a little sign 

And tied it on her head. 
But fearing these might not be seen, 

Because they were so small. 
Each had upon her shoulders hung 

A rainbow-colored shawl ; 
And then with costly 'broideries 

O'er hoops of monstrous size, 
Or balmorals whose dazzling hues 

Might almost blind your eyes, 
O'erspread with skirts of trailing length 

From fashions o'er the seas. 
They launched ujion the avenue, 

And sailed before the breeze. 
By skirt and shawl and top-knot gay, 

And ribbons fluttering, 
Wheae'er we looked upon the street 

We knew that it was Spring. 
There roses stalked in stately pride 

With flaunting lily-belles, 
As if in sportive strife to see 

Who'd make the biggest SY>^ells ! 
And dandy-lions, neat and trim. 

Enlivened all the scene. 
With ornaments of yellow hue 

Well set on living green ! 



SIGNS OF SPRING. Igl 

So, Mary, by these signs you see, 

Thovigh from your woods aAvay, 
We needed not your grass and flowers 

To tell us it was May. 
And thus, without your sunlit dells. 

Or wild bird's simple tune, 
JSTo doubt our rose-and-lily-belles 

Will tell us when 'tis June. 



THE SNOW. 



Tlie snow is coming, the beautiful snow! 

How fast through the air it is flying; 
Like Charity's mantle it covers from sight 
Tlie ruin that Autumn had made in his might, 
When he ravished the blossoms so lovely and 
bright. 

And left them all withered and dying. 
'J'he snow" covers all, the beautiful snow; 
The si:)ringtime is gone, and the summer's bright 

glow, 
And no longer with well-feigned accents of woe 

The hypocrite Autumn is sighing. 

The snow, the glittering snow has come ! 

From morn till nierht the bells are rinc;inef : 
A livelier welcome was never heard 
From the throat of a gay and gladsome bird, 
When he saw by a leaf the wind had stirred, 

The first young violet springing. 
The snow bird too with the snow has come — 
O Willie, throw down your noisy drum. 
And bring to this dear little warbler a crumb, 

For which he will pay you in singing. 



THE SNOW. 183 

O rosy-cheeked and laughing girls, 

For your delight the snow comes down ; 
It melts amid your shining cm'ls, 

Your raven braids and tresses brown. 
Swift tlu'ough the air the rounded ball 

By roguish boys is deftly thrown ; 
No matter which shall break its fall, 

Your head, or Fanny's, or my own ! 
Scarce whiter than your neck it fell, 

Like snow on snow bank lightly — 
Another backward flies — that's well ! 

No other hand could throw so sprightly ! 
O merrily then, fair children, sing, 
Not for the languishing, balmy Spring, 
Not for the Summer or Autumn — no, 
Sing for the snow, the beautiful snow ! 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 



The year is dying witli tlie day, 
And blending with tlie twilight gray 

The shadows come and go ; 
With noiseless stej^ across the floor, 
And dusky banners waving o'er, 

I see them moving slow. 

The twilight deepens into gloom, 
And darkly round my silent room 

The phantom hopes arise — 
Such haunting shapes as once had form 
Of life and beauty glowing warm. 

Beneath more smiling skies. 

I see them oft at hours like this. 
When lingering daylight waits to kiss 

The blushing star of eve, 
Then slowly pales his love-lit fires, 
And down the crimson sky retires, 

As loth that star to leave. 



THE CLOSING YEAR. 185 

And oft I wake to hear their call 
When midnight drops lier sombre pall 

Adown yon arch of blue ; 
And I those shadowy bands among, 
Have still their mournful marches sung 

Till I am mournful too. 

But vain to-night shall be their charms, 
Their beckoning hands and twining arms : 

Come hither Adelaide : 
Now place thy fair young cheek to mine, 
And let thy arms around me twine, 

Nor tremble 'mid this shade. 

Upon thy breast no weary years 
In sorrow born, baptised in tears. 

With life's sweet hopes have died ; 
But lovely in thy youthful morn. 
An opening rose without a thorn. 

Thou standest by my side. 

Thy trusting, hopeful smiles dis])el 
The glooms that o'er my spirit fell ; 

The haunting shadoAvs flee, 
And standing by thy side I seem 
As walking in a blissful dream, 

A hopeful child like thee. 

But ah, to-morrow's light will bring 
Another leaf to crown thy spring ; 



186 THE CLOSING YE AR 

For me, perchance a tear ; 
Yet in my dream methinks I see 
A brighter day of hope for me 

Is dawning with the year. 



A SONG FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE. 



Awny with thoughts of pall and bier, 
And cypress bough and funeral tear, 
And wailings for the dying year. 
Our household fires shall burn to-night 
With warmer glow, while children bright 
Dance round us in the rosy light; 

Life was not given for tears and groans. 
The god-like gift of speech for moans, 
Or fiices made for churchyai'd stones. 
Hang the green holly on your walls. 
And let the children's laughing calls 
Re-echo through the lighted halls. 

Tliose who have killed the year may weep. 
And low in dust and ashes creep. 
With wild laments and anguish deep ; 
But we who loved him best while here, 
Can bid him go with festal cheer, 
And lights and garlands round his bier. 



188 A SONG FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE. 

He came to us a helpless child, 
Amid the snows of winter wild — 
Our hearths with blazing logs we piled, 
We gave him shelter from the storm. 
And closely Avrapped his shivering form, 
In softest wools and ermine warm. 

We fed him from our garden store — 
The richest fruits our orchards bore, 
And nuts from many a foreign shore. 
Our corn and wine his strength supplied, 
Till, grown to boyhood by our side, 
We gloried in his youthful pride. 

We gave him flocks and fertile lands. 
We bowed our heads to his commands. 
And tilled his fields with willing hands ; 
When lo, to crown his manhood's morn. 
The ripening wheat, and tasseled corn. 
Were of our loving labor born. 

Through all the summer's noontide heat. 
We toiled amid the clover sweet, 
And piled its fragrance at his feet. 
We reaped his fields of waving grain, 
Then plowed o'er all the vale and plain. 
And sowed the hopeful seed again, 

And Vv'hen the autumn's withered leaves 
Fell rustling round our household ea^-es. 
We gathered in his golden sheaves, 



A SONG FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE. 189 

We bound his furrowed brow with maize, 
And honored his declining days 
AYitli jubilees of grateful praise. 

His work is done ; his Harvest-home 
Is gathered where no blight can come, 
And his sealed lips are sweetly dumb 
From the full perfectiKJSs of bliss, 
The rapture trance tliat ever is 
Just where the Heavenly life meets this. 

We want for him no death bells slow, 
No sable plumes and hearse of woe, 
With mourners wailing as they go. 
But bring, in place of tolling knells, 
Tlie music of your merry bells. 
And cheerful songs for sad farewells. 

Hang the green holly on the walls. 
Let social mirth and music calls 
Ring through your festal lighted halls. 
Life from the Old Year's death is born. 
Let bright'ning hopes with smiles adorn 
The breaking of tlie New Year's Morn ! 



190 ERINNA CHAINED TO THE DISTAFF. 



Lily of the Lesbian Isle, 

Twin in heart with Lesbos' Rose, 

O'er thy life's too fleeting smile. 
O'er thy early ended woes, 
Fond Romance a glory throws. 

Pallid as thine emblem flower, 
In thy humble garb arrayed. 

At the distaff" hour by hour, 

Through all change of sun and sliade, 
Sitt'st and sing'st thou, Lesbian maid. 

"Weary grow the fingei'S slight. 
Still the wheel with ceaseless turn 

Weds the morning to the night, 
Heedless as thy parent stern 
Of the thoughts that in thee burn. 

Endless tlu'ough the hands so small 
Glides the thread for Lesbos' looms; 

SjDinning thus thy young life's pall. 
O'er thy spirit fall no glooms 
And thy soul in beauty blooms. 



ERINNA CHAINED TO THE DISTAFF. I9] 

Patient fit tlie distaff bent 

To thine ear a murmur comes, 

Message sweet by nature sent — 
By eacli bird and bee that hums 
Tlirough her forests droj^iDing gums ; 

By each wandering wind tliat blows 
O'er tlie loved ^gean waves ; 

By each mountain stream that flows 
From the naiad haunted caves 
Where the lonely cistus waves, 

Down the green hills, orange crowned, 
O'er the sunbright slopes that lie 

Garlanded by vines around 
Where the purple clusters vie 
With the purple Lesbian sky. 

Soft the tender floods of sono- 

Borne by winds and waves and streams 

Lethe for the spirit's wrono- — 

Pour their splendors through thy dreams 

Till an eden round thee beams. 

There impassioned, bold and strong, 
Sappho o'er her golden lyre, 

Rose of beauty, love and song, 
Blushing breathes the fond desire 
That consumes her heart of fire. 

Thou, Erinna, listening all, 

Tlirilling, trembling in the glow 
Of the love-born airs that fall 



192 ERINNA CHxYINED TO THE DISTAFF 

On the winds that come and go 
Through thy casement dark and low, 

Thou, the Lesbian Lily fair, 
O'er thy distaif drooping cold, 

Type of genius bound by care, 
Speakest through the legend old 
To these years of sterner mould; 

Music-sweet the murmurs come 
Where thy toilworn sisters kneel, 

Wearied with the ceaseless hum 
Of life's ever turning wheel. 
Wounded by the distaff's steel. 

Toiling hands that may not rest. 
Hearts the world may ne'er beguile, 

Lips that love hath never pressed. 
Bless thy hopeful song and smile 
Lily of the Lesbian Isle ! 



( KOU91862 



A LIST OF 

BOOKS 

ISSUED BY 

CARLETON, PUBLISHER, 

(LATE KUDD & CAKLETON,) 

413 Broadway, 
NEW YORK. 



^ 



NEW BOOKS 

And New Editions Recently Issued by 

CARLETOlSr, PUBLISHER, 

(LATE EUDD & CARLETON.) 
413 £liOAI>WAT, NEW YORK. 



N.B. — The Pubusitep., npon receipt of the price in advance, will send any 
Of the following Books, by mail, postage pf.ee, to any part of the United States. 
This convenient and very safe mode may be adopted when the neighboring Book- 
sellers are not supplied with the desired work. State name and address in full. 



Tlie Cloister and the Hearth. 

A magnificent new historical novel, by Charles Reade, author 
of " Peg Woffington," "Christie Johnstone," etc., etc., $1.25. 

A Book about Doctors. 
An amusing, entertaining, and gossipy volume about the medi- 
cal profession — with many anecdotes. From Englished., $1.50. 

Kutledge. 
A powerful new American novel, by an unknown author, $] .25. 

The Stitherlands. 
The new novel by the popular author of " Rutledge," $1.25., 

The Habits of Good Society. 
A hand-book for ladies and gentlemen. Best, wittiest, most en- 
tertaining work on taste and good manners ever printed, $1.25. 

The Great Tribulation. 
Or, Things coming on the earth, by Rev. John Gumming, D.D., 
author "Apocalyptic Sketches," etc., two series, each $1.00. 

Tl»e Great Preparation. 
Or, Redemption draweth nigh, by Rev. John Cumming, D.D., 
author "The Great Tribulation," etc., two series, each $1.00. 

Teach us to Pray. 

A new devotional work on The Lord's Prayer, by Rev. John 
Cumming, D.D., author " The Great Tribulation," etc., $1.00. 



LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED 



Ijove (li' Amour). 

A remarkable and celebrated volume on Love, translated from 
the French of M. J. Michelet, by Dr. J. W. Palmer, $1.00. 

Woman (La Femme). 
A continuation of " Love (L'Amour)," by same author, f 1.00. 

Tlic Sea (La Mer). 
New work by Michelet, author " Love" and "Woman," $1.00. 

Tlie Moral History of Women. 
Companion to Michelet's " L'Amour," from the French, $1.00. 

Mother Ooose for Grown Folks. 
A brochure of humorous and satirical rhymes for old folks, based 
upon the famous " Mother Goose Melodies," illustrated, 75 cts. 

Tlie Adventures of Verdant Green. 
A rollicking humorous novel of English College life and expe- 
riences at Oxford University, with nearly 200 illus., $1.00. 

TJie Old MercUants of NewYork. 
Being entertaining reminiscences and recollections of ancient 
mercantile New York City, by " Walter Barrett, clerk," $1.50. 

Tlie Culprit Fay. 
Joseph Rodman Drake's faery poem, elegantly printed, 50 cts. 

Doctor Antonio. 
One of the very best love-tales of Italian life ever published, 
by G. Ruffini, author of "Lorenzo Benoni," etc., etc., $1.25. 

liavinia. 
A new love-story, by the author of " Doctor Antonio," $1.25. 

Dear Experience. 
An amusing Parisian novel, by author " Doctor Antonio," % 1 .00. 

Tlie Life of Alexander Von Humboldt. 
A new and popular biography of this savant, including his 
travels and labors, with an introduction by Bayard Taylor, $1.25. 

Tlie Private Correspondence of Von Humboldt 
With Varnhagen Von Ense and other Europeancelebrities,8l. 25. 

Arteiniis Ward. 
The best writings of this humorous author — illustrations, $1.00. 

Beatrice Ceiici. 
An historical novel by F. D. Guerrazzi, from the Italian, $1.25. 

Isabella Orsinl. 
An historical novel by the author of " Beatrice Cenci," $1.21;. 

Tlie Spirit of Hebrew Poetry. 
A new theological work by Isaac Taylor, author " History ot 
Enthusiasm," etc. — introduction by Wm. Adams D.D., $2.00. 



BY CAULE^'ON; new YORK. 



Cesar Birotteaii, 

The first of a series of selections from the best French novels of 
Honore de Balzac. Translated from the latest Paris editions by 
O. W. Wight and Frank B. Goodrich (" Dick Tinto"), -^i.oo. 

Petty AnnoyaHces of Married Life. 
The second of the series of Balzac's best French novels, $i.oo. 

Tise Alelieiuist. 
The third of the series of Balzac's best French novels, $1.00. 

Eugeuic Grandet. 
The fourth of the series of Balzac's best French novels, $1.00, 

Tbe National School for tlie Soldier. 
An elementary work for the soldier ; teaching by questions and 
answers, thorough mihtary tactics, by Capt. Van Ness, 50 cts. 

The Partisan Leader. 
The notorious Disunion novel, published at the South many 
years ago — then suppressed — now reprinted, 2 vols, in 1, $1.00. 

A Woman's thoughts about "W^omen. 
A new and one of her best works, by Miss Mulock, author of 
" John Halifax, Gentleman," " A Life for a Life," etc., $1.00. 

Ballad of Babie Bell. 
Together with other poems by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 75 cts. 

The Course of True L.ove 

Never did run smooth, a poem by Thomas B. Aldrich, 50 cts. 
Poems of a Year. 

By Thomas B. Aldrich, author of "Babie Bell," &c., 75 cts. 

Curiosities of Natural History. 

An entertaining and gossiping volume on beasts, birds, and 
fishes, by F. T. Buckland ; two series, ea. sold separately, $1.25. 

The Diamond "Wedding. 
And other miscellaneous poems, by Edmund C. Stedman, 75 cts. 

The Prince's Ball. 
A satirical poem by E. C. Stedman, with illustrations, 50 cts. 

A Life of Hugh Miller. 
Author of " Testimony of the Rocks," &c., new edition, $1.25. 

Eric; or, Little by Little. 
A capital tale of Enghsh school-life, by F. W. Farrar, $1.00, 

Lola Montez. 
Her lectures and autoTaiography, steel portrait, new ed., %i.2i^ 

Spots on the Sun. 
Or; The Plumb-Lin«: papers, by Rev. T. M. Hopkins, 1 1.00 



6 LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED 

Tom Tiddler's Ground. 

Charles Dickens's Christmas Story for 1861, paper cover, 25 cts. 
National Hymns. 

An essay by Richard Grant White. 8vo. embellished, $1.00. 
George Brimley. 

Literary essays reprinted from the British Quarterlies, $1.25. 

The Kelly's and t\\^ O'Kelly's. 

Novel by Anthony Trollope, author of " Doctor Thorne," $1.25. 

General IVatlianiel liyon. 

The life and political writings of this patriot soldier, $1.00, 

Twenty Years Around tlie World. 

A volume of travel by John G. Vassar, Poughkeepsie, $2.50. 

Pliilip Tliaxter. 

A new American novel, one vol. i2mo., cloth bound, $1.00. 

Notliing to "Wear. 

A satirical poem by Wm. A. Butler, with illustrations, 50 cts. 
Political History of New York. 

By Jabez B. Hammond, LL.D., 3 vols, steel portraits, $6.00. 
Vernon Grove. 

A novel by Mrs. CaroHne H. Glover, Charleston, S, C, 1 1.00. 

Tlie Book of Chess I^itorature. 

A complete Encyclopaedia of this subject, byD. W. Fiske, $1.50. 

From Haytime to Hopping. 
A novel by the author of" Our Farm of Four Acres," $1.00. 

Miles Standish, Illustrated. 
Longfellow's poem with illustrations by J. W. Ehninger, $6.00. 

Tlie Afternoon of Unmarried liife. 
An interesting theme admirably treated, new edition, $1.25. 

Fast Day Sermons 
Of 1 86 1, the best Sermons by the prominent Divines, $1.25. 

A Guide to Washington. 
A complete hand-book for the National Capitol, illus., 1 1.00. 

Doestlcks' Letters. 
The original letters of this great humorist, illustrated, $1.25, 

PI u-rl-bns-tali. 
A comic history of America, by "Docsticks," illus., f 1.25. 

The Elephant Club. 
A humorous view of club-life, by "Doesticks," illus., $1.25. 

The Witches of New York. 
Comic adventures among fortune tellers, by "Doesticks," $1.25. 



BY CABLETON, NEW YORK. 



Fort I^afayette. 

A novel by the Hon. Benjamin Wood of New York, S'l.oo. 
Tlie niexican Papers. 

In five separate parts; by Edward E. Dunbar, per set, fj.oo. 

Debt and Grace. 

The Doctrine of a Future Lite by Rev. C. F. Hudson, 81.25. 
Tlicssaloiiica. 

Or; the model church, by H. L. Hastings, lamo., 75 cts. 

Poems by E. G. Holland. 

Niagara, .and other poems; in blue and gold binding, 75 cts. 

"Wild Southern Scenes. 

A tale, by the author of "Wild Western Scenes," 81.25. 

Sybelle 

And other poems by L , blue and gold binding, 75 cts. 

The Spuytenduyvll Clironicle. 
A novel of fashionable life and society in New York, 75 cts. 

Ballads of the War. 
A collection of poems tor 1861, by George W. Hewes, 75 cts. 

Hartley Norman. 

A new and striking American novel; one large i2mo., $1.25. 

The Vagabond. 

Sketches on literature, art, and society, by Adam Badcau, $1.00. 

Kmcline Sherman Smith. 

A collection of selected poems, large octavo, elegant, $2.00. 

Edgar Poe and his Critics. 
A literary critique by Mrs. Sarah Helen Whitman, 75 cts. 

The New and the Old. 
Sketches in California and India, by Dr. J. W. Palmer, $1.25. 

Up and Down the Irra'«vaddi. 
Adventures in the Burman Empire, by J. W. Palmer, $1.00. 

Sarah Gould. 
A volume of miscellaneous poems, in blue and gold, 75 cts. ' 

Cosmogony ; 
Or, the mysteries of creation, by Thomas A. Davies, $1.50. 

An Answer to Hugh Miller 
And other kindred geologists, by Thomas A. Davies, $1.25. 

^Walter Ash^vood. 
A novel by " Palu Siogvolk," author of " Schediasms," $1.00 

Southwold. 
A new society novel by Mrs. Lillie Devereux Umsted, $1,00 



LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED 



Brown's Carpenter's Assistant. 

A practical work on architecture, witli plans, large 4to., '$£;.oo. 

Two IX^ays to Wedlock. 

A novelette reprinted from the N. Y. Home Journal, $1.03. 

A Tribute to Kane, 

And other poems, by Geo. W. Chapman, Milwaukee, 75 cts. 

Etliel^s liove Life. 

A lo\'e-story by Mrs. Margaret J. M. Sweat, Portland, $1.00. 

Recollections of tlie Revolution. 

A private journal and diary of 1776, by Sidney Barclay, $1.00. 
JPoeins by Flash. 

A collection of poems by Henry L. Flash, Mobile, 75 cts. 

Romance of a Poor Young Man. 

A capital novel from the French of Octave Feuillet, 81.00. 

A New Monetary System, 

Or; rights of labor and property, by Edward Kellogg, $1.00, 

AVa-Wa-l!yan«la. 
A legend of old Orange County, New York, in verse, 75 cts. 

Flirtation 
And what comes of it. A play, by Frank B. Goodrich, 25 cts. 

Blanclic. 
A legend in verse, by Sarah W. Brooks, Providence, 50 cts. 

Husband vs. Wife. 

A satirical poem, by Henry Clapp, Jr., illus. by Hoppin, 60 cts. 

Roumania. 

Travels in Eastern Europe by J. O. Noyes, illustrated, $1.50. 

Tl»e Christmas Tree. 
A volume of miscellany for the young, with illustrations, 75 cts. 

The Captive Nightingale. 
A. charming little book for children, many illustrations, 75 cts. 

Sunshine through the Clouds. 
Comprising stories for juveniles, beautifully illustrated, 75 cts. 

Abraham Lincoln. 
A popular life of Lincoln and Hamlin, pamphlet, 25 cts. 

John C. Fremont. 
A popular life of Fremont and Dayton, pamphlet, 25 cts. 

James Buchanan. 
A popular life of Buchanan and Breckenridge, pamphlet, 25 cts- 

John Bell. 
A popular life of Bell and Everett, pamphlet covers, 25 cts. 



